The East Gate
by Eastgaters
Summary: When Gandalf fell in Moria, The Fellowship escaped through the East Gate with relative ease. This story is what might have occurred had the orcs not fled but kept on coming. Features all the remaining 8 - COMPLETE!
1. Default Chapter

The East Gate

From The Bridge of Khazad-Dûm

_"There was a guard of orcs crouching in the shadows behind the great door-posts towering on either side but the gates were shattered and cast down. Aragorn smote to the ground the captain that stood in his path, and the rest fled in terror of his wrath."_

J. R. R. Tolkien

This is a story of what might have occurred had the orcs not fled, but instead multiplied and just kept on coming…

It has been written by a gestalt creature named Eastgaters. This creature was bred by Baylor, who suggested a role playing game that would eventually be turned into a story for all to read. To make her creature, she took seven other unsuspecting writers and allotted them each a character. This is the cast:

Frodo – Baylor

Samwise – Budgielover

Pippin – Marigold

Merry – Llinos

Legolas – Mainframe

Aragorn – Nilramiel

Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker

Gimli – Q

_There are sometimes other random characters but these will be announced as they become relevant. Also on occasion one of the other writers may have understudied another writer's character in addition to their own. _

_The beta was by Marigold and Llinos, and Llinos put it into story format. _

Enjoy!

Chapter 1 The Frantic Fight

The fires went out, and blank darkness fell. The Company stood rooted with horror staring into the pit. Even as Aragorn and Boromir came flying back, the rest of the bridge cracked and fell. With a cry Aragorn roused them.

"Come! I will lead you now!" he called. "We must obey his last command. Follow me!"

They stumbled wildly up the great stairs beyond the door – Aragorn leading, Boromir at the rear. At the top was a wide echoing passage and along this they fled. Frodo heard Sam at his side weeping, and then he found that he himself was weeping as he ran. _"Doom, doom, doom,"_ the drum-beats rolled behind, mournful now and slow; _"doom"!_

They ran on. The light grew before them; great shafts pierced the roof. They ran swifter. They passed into a hall, bright with daylight from its high windows in the east. They fled across it. Through its huge broken doors they passed, and suddenly before them the Great Gates opened, an arch of blazing light.

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A contingent of orcs barred the way but behind them the Gates were shattered and cast down. In a red fury, Aragorn, never breaking his stride, leapt forward to face the captain. At his heels, the Fellowship drew their weapons and rushed forth.

Even as Legolas pivoted in one fluid motion to face the horde of foul misshapen creatures that filled in behind them, he simultaneously plucked an arrow from his depleted quiver. Though still feeling the shock of Mithrandir's fall and fully aware that they were desperately outnumbered still, Legolas' heart lifted a notch as his body soaked up the warmth and pure light of Anar. The Gates. They were so close and had paid dearly for their passage thus far through Moria.

_'Mithrandir …No'!_ He admonished himself sternly. The time for grief would have to wait. Focus on the task at hand.

He noted the hobbits naturally gravitated towards each other as battle was engaged. Sam beside his master and Merry and Pippin on Frodo's left. Boromir and Gimli fought either side of Aragorn and the three managed to give Legolas enough room to fall back slightly from the front line to cover a wider area.

Sam struggled to stay at Frodo's back as he attempted to clear his eyes from the tears still running down his face. Gandalf had charged him not to leave Frodo and Sam didn't mean to. He couldn't think of the old wizard now, of what his fall meant to the Quest. He lowered his head and fought on, trying to keep himself between his master and the screaming orcs.

The pain in his side momentarily forgotten, Frodo drew Sting and leaped forward. The blade blazed blue and a cold fury fuelled Frodo as he thrust it into a small orc at the front of the line. He was dimly aware that the Fellowship was woefully outnumbered but from the scenes he was glimpsing out of the corners of his eyes, he knew that his companions were caught up in the same fierce frenzy that he was.

The air seared his lungs with each breath and he knew not if it was from his injury or if his throat was raw from his screams when they had lost Gandalf. He pulled Sting from the fallen orc and swung round to meet the next foe. Even as he did so, his eyes sought for a way through the line into the bright, sunlit safety beyond. He waited for Aragorn to signal whether they should keep fighting or try to break through.

The brilliant light of the outside world blinded Sam and he was sure his master was in no better shape. The incandescent blue of Sting was muted by the bright daylight and he saw that it was black to the hilt with orc blood. His own sword, too, dripped dark blood that ran over the hilt and stained his hand. His brow burned and he raised his fingers to it, seeing red blood as he lowered them. When had that happened? The blood was running into his eyes now, burning and blurring. The dark shapes wavered in his vision and impatiently he swiped his hand across his bleeding brow, smearing the wound into a red mask. They couldn't keep up this pace. His breath was rasping in his throat and beside him, Frodo was beginning to stagger as he fought.

The Big Folk were trying to protect the four of them Sam knew, trying to keep them to the centre. But there were too many foes and they were too large. The orcs knew this place and the Company did not.

With no time to act, let alone think, Boromir scrambled to Aragorn's right flank hoping Gimli would take the left and trusting in Legolas' bow and short swords to protect the rear. Without the wizard he worried for the safety of the hobbits.

Boromir had only half a moment to parry with another orc before he was overwhelmed by a press of potshard steel and hideous faces. His shield, still slung over his back, protected him from the rear attacks. He could feel blows raining hard upon it. A familiar coolness came over him as he continued to thrust, chop and parry. But although he hacked and slew more orcs than he could count, still they came on.

Arrow after arrow flew, meeting their mark until all were spent. Slinging his bow over his head and one shoulder, Legolas drew his twin, bone handled knives, turning away from the gate to fend off the relentless orcs, cutting and thrusting, he hacked with centuries of practiced ease, keeping a rearguard action to protect the small beleaguered group.

Pippin had been trying not to weep for Gandalf as they fled towards safety, remembering what Boromir had always taught him and Merry about not grieving for the fallen until the battle was won or others may die because of your distraction. And it had been just as well he was making such an effort to keep himself as calm as he could for it seemed they were not free yet.

There was no time to count them, but it seemed that dozens of orcs blocked their way to the freedom that lay just out of reach. Thanks to the light of the fires that had been set to block their way the bright sunlight ahead did not blind him as it might have had they come upon it suddenly after four days of almost complete darkness. Still his eyes were filled with tears from the brightness even as he turned away from the light to fight the pursuing orcs. He only hoped that the enemy would have the same problem, but it was not so. Apparently these orcs were here in front of the gates because they could tolerate sunlight and Pippin found himself hard pressed.

Gandalf was gone! It hardly seemed possible. Merry felt the shock still rippling through his brain, his senses had gone numb and he was vaguely aware that he was cutting and slashing with his sword. The action had become second nature now. Boromir had taught Pippin and him well. They were killing these benighted creatures without even thinking.

He knew, without looking, that Pippin was beside him – Pip was always beside him in a dangerous situation. It was where Merry wanted him to be. He was responsible for his little cousin, he had promised both their fathers to always take care of him.

Merry too had turned to face the pursuing orcs and Pippin knew he now fought near his side for he could hear his cousin panting with effort, echoing his own laboured breathing.

The eight Fellowship members now formed a circle, their backs to the centre, all of them facing outwards to their enemies. Aragorn, Frodo and Sam looked towards the gates, battling the orcs that stood between them and freedom, with Gimli and Boromir at either side, while Legolas, Merry and Pippin faced back into the mine attempting to fend off their pursuers. But they were beset on all sides and orcs soon broke through their defences as the circle widened under the relentless assault.

Pippin realised that Frodo was behind them now, closer to the freedom promised by the broken gates. He was also engaged in fighting for his life and Pippin started to back up, trying to make his way to him. To protect Frodo was why they had come. He had to protect Frodo…

_'One, three, five, three_...' by the numbers as Boromir had schooled them. Two had fallen to Pippin's blade already and he felt himself sprayed with a jet of foul black blood as he hewed the sword arm off a third. As he lunged to finish that one, the hobbit, still moving backwards, slipped on the blood that was coating the floor of the chamber and fell.

But it saved Pippin's life. As he hit the ground a large orc that had been coming upon him from behind tripped over him and his jagged blade drove instead into the orc that Pippin had just mutilated. '_Well, that was helpful!'_ Almost without conscious thought Pippin scrambled to his feet and drove his blade into the back of the second orc. Then he whirled, trying to take a brief moment to find his bearings and his companions in the fearful confusion and carnage. Boromir was near him and there was Gimli. He thought he could see Aragorn near Frodo but the light was too bright to be sure. Where was Sam? He couldn't see Sam or Legolas or…

"Merry!" He had become separated from Merry. He couldn't see him! Oh, where was Merry?

"Yaakakkkk!" Merry slashed down again and then swung his sword in an arc to decapitate the filthy faced goblin that was bearing down on him, the loud cry startling him from his strange reverie. This was no time to be pondering – the moment was upon them and their lives were at stake.

"Pip!" Merry's shout was lost in the cacophony of the battle. He looked frantically around as he realised with sinking heart that while his mind had wandered, he had lost sight of Pippin for a moment. There – there he was! The smaller hobbit was backing up, slashing his sword in every direction as he made his way to Frodo. Then he fell!

Pippin was down! "No!" Merry felt himself begin to panic. He watched in horror as a large orc raced towards his prone cousin, sword raised. But even as Merry lunged forward to try and help, the orc tripped over Pippin's body and fell.

Merry, his heart racing for fear of his Pip's safety, lifted his sword and charged. But before he had reached his goal, a great hand reached from behind, seizing his sword arm by the wrist and almost lifted him off his feet.

Merry managed to get a purchase on the solid ground once more and spun round to kick out with all his might. His foot felt as if it had made contact with solid rock. The creature that had hold of him was smaller than the troll that had attacked Frodo earlier but it was the same breed, Merry had no doubt. Fortunately it was not actually armed with any weapon save its great strength. But that was bad enough. It picked Merry up by the wrist, every muscle and sinew in Merry's arm screaming out in agony, and hurled the hobbit through the air.

Merry had no idea where he had landed but he lost no time to scramble back up on to all fours and look quickly around. The troll creature was advancing on him once more and he could see no sign of Pippin. "**_Get up Merry_**_!"_ he muttered to himself. He was disorientated and dizzy, and as he frantically tried to gain his feet he felt a rush of foul air as several orcs came towards him.

Merry lifted his arm to strike as he rose up onto one knee to meet the onslaught and as he did it dawned on him with horrified realisation that he had lost his sword and his hand was empty. The orcs moved relentlessly towards him, only now they seemed to advance ridiculously slowly. Unfortunately Merry appeared to be moving equally slowly. He saw the vicious dagger come towards him and tried to lift his hand to shield himself. He heard a terrible scream of agony and knew with an odd little thought that it was his own voice. His mouth stayed open after the cry had left it and Merry clutched at his bleeding side wondering almost absently how long it would take to die and if he could manage to see Pippin again before he succumbed.

"Pip, Pip, I'm sorry," he sobbed and his surroundings took on a faraway look before his eyes fluttered and closed.

Although Aragorn was laying about with skilful strokes, each one finding its mark with ease, his mind was in turmoil. He had never seriously considered having to lead this Quest, but now that Gandalf was gone he would have to or all would fail and Middle-earth would be lost. Now, in the very midst of battle, he had to make his first and probably most important, decision.

His chief concern was for the hobbits, and of them of course Frodo was foremost in his mind. The Ring-bearer was close and fighting valiantly. Aragorn swiped through the waist of a small orc, cutting it neatly in two. The Ranger cast his eyes about, frantically trying to locate the others.

There was Sam, on the far side of Frodo, protecting his master with all his might. Aragorn ran his sword through a screaming goblin and with his other hand he turned an orc's own sword to its throat, severing half the creature's neck. Now, where were the other two hobbits? He saw Pippin backing up stabbing and slashing and then fall. He started forward, but the hobbit was saved by a clumsy orc, tripping over the youngster. Just Merry left to find.

His question was answered very abruptly at that moment as he saw Merry's body fly through the air, landing further back in the mine. Aragorn could see he was now unarmed and therefore vulnerable but if he tried to protect him it would mean leaving Frodo virtually unshielded.

Aragorn shouted to the elf, "Legolas! Have a care for Merry!"

The next onslaught happened so fast that even the swift Ranger could not prevent it, and Legolas had not yet reached Merry's side. Several orcs turned towards Merry and rushed the fallen hobbit. He frantically lifted his arm and tried to protect himself, but the first orc to reach him stabbed with an ugly jagged dagger right into the hobbit's chest.

Merry screamed and collapsed as Aragorn surged forward and slaughtered three orcs in quick succession. A troll was advancing upon them now, the same one that had thrown Merry, stupidity driving it forward to attack anything in its path although it was probably being drawn to the Ring as well. Aragorn knew now he had no choice but to retreat.

"Get out! Get out!" he screamed to the others.

So completely immersed in his battle trance, it took Legolas a split second to register that Aragorn was calling him to find Merry, but once his keen eyes found the downed halfling Legolas sprang to aid him.

Intent on beheading a yellow-eyed creature blocking his path, Legolas froze as a high-pitched scream from Merry rent the air. The hobbit had his hands clutched desperately at his bleeding side, eyes wide in unbelieving shock. Legolas saw Merry's eyes slowly slide shut as his body slumped bonelessly before their enemies.

Wasting no time, the elf attacked from behind as the orc prepared to deliver a final blow. Aiming for the head and the neck, Legolas brought the elvish blades down and through the creature's neck, partially severing its small head from the thick neck. It bellowed in pain from the unseen assault as it slid to the ground and Legolas wasted no time to kneel by the motionless hobbit's side.

Pippin cast his eyes around frantically in search of Merry, knowing with overpowering dread that his cousin was in terrible danger. He finally caught a glimpse of Legolas and followed the direction the elf was heading. There was Merry, down and stunned, trying to hold off several orcs though Pippin couldn't see any weapon in Merry's hand. He saw one of the orcs stab forward and heard Merry shriek in agony.

"No! Merry! Merry!" Pippin screamed, stumbling forward toward his fallen cousin. Someone caught hold of him, an orc, and he whirled and struck its very head from its neck in his desperation to get free and get to Merry's side, but the creature pulled him down with it as it fell. As Pippin tried to struggle on regardless, his only thought that Merry needed him, his free hand scrabbled on the ground and found another weapon. Catching it up in his fury, to use in his left hand as he wielded his own blade in his right, tears began to fall from his eyes despite Boromir's training. The weapon in his hand was Merry's.

Gimli caught Boromir's glance and charged forward, bashing one small orc aside as he flung himself into the next one while swinging his axe with deadly aim at two others. It felt good to do something, to literally fight through his grief over Gandalf. His axe swung again and he jerked it from the body as the creature fell and spun to meet yet another orc. With each step he drew nearer to Boromir as he tried to manoeuvre to Aragorn's left but the waves of orcs washed over him. How many he hewed down he was never able to recall, but even his sturdy arm grew weary in the fray.

Boromir was oblivious to the sickening smell of orc blood but not to the caution he needed to prevent himself from slipping in the oily mess. Most of his fighting had been against men, not these minions of Saruman. Men fought more skilfully, with tactics and plans. These creatures just swarmed. Like bees or ants. And like insects they were easily slain. But the continuous throng pressing against him was beginning to take its toll. He found it difficult to see as it was and the deafening squeals of the monsters grated on his nerves. Pippin's voice rose above the din. He was frantically shouting for his cousin. Not a good sign. Panic in battle was deadly.

Watching in horror Boromir saw Pippin grabbed from behind by an orc, only to find himself smiling wildly as young Pippin lopped the very head from the orc's shoulders in a single blade stroke. Not an easy feat for someone nearly a quarter shorter and half the weight of his attacker!

Gimli battled his way through just as Pippin staggered back to avoid the head of the toppled orc, its body collapsing in a heap. "Oh, that Took," he moaned, and, using a small hand axe now; waded deeper into battle.

Boromir's pride in his littlest pupil was short lived though. Listening to Aragorn's shouts for them to get out of the cavern, Boromir involuntarily wailed as he watched Pippin fall under the weight of the orc the little one had just slain.

Aragorn and the others were trying to keep Frodo toward their centre, to protect him, and somehow this knowledge gave Frodo a fresh burst of anger and energy. Sam was near - but where were Merry and Pippin? Frantically, Frodo sought out his younger cousins. Even as he searched, he heard Aragorn cry, "Legolas! Have a care for Merry!" Then, he heard Merry scream.

Sam heard Merry's scream behind him and heard Pippin's answering terrified shrieks. He whirled but there were too many bodies between them to see what had occurred. Huge forms surged back and forth and the very air smelled of blood. Bodies and parts of bodies littered the floor and it was difficult to move without slipping in blood or noxious liquids.

His master and Strider had been pushed back, making room for the growing pile of corpses at the Ranger's feet. Sam ducked a windmilling orc and dodged another. Suddenly there was a great hulking beast before him, intent on the man. Its back to Sam, it seemed to have disdained him as beneath its notice. '_That's a mistake'_, Sam thought grimly and steeling himself, drove his small sword directly into the base of its spine with all of his strength.

Sting grew heavier in Frodo's hand with each swing, each thrust, as injury and exhaustion began to overcome his initial rage and frenzy. Sam had been forced from his master's side and fought with a dogged viciousness that would have rendered him unrecognisable to anyone from The Green Dragon.

"Why don't the Big Folk get us out of this horrible place?" Sam wondered, even as he chastised himself for he knew all were trying as hard as they could. He took a deep breath. The dead lay about them and still the orcs came. Sam edged around the creature he had just felled, loath to touch it, then jumped over it when no other path opened before him. He slipped in blood and went to his knees, catching himself with his hands in the filth before him.

A clawed hand fastened around his foot and he choked back a cry as he looked over his shoulder. The orc he had stabbed had him by the ankle, its red eyes furious and triumphant even as life left it. Strong yet, it jerked and the hobbit slid back, dropping his sword as his fingers scrabbled for purchase on the rough ground.

Sam threw himself down and rolled over on his back, twisting in the creature's grasp. He drew back his other foot and kicked with everything in him, smashing the creature's nose, breaking the bridge and sending a sharp shard of bone up into the orc's brain. It shuddered, then its grip relaxed, clawed fingers opening. Sam struggled to his feet. He groped around, found his sword, and forced himself back into the carnage.

"Merry!" Frodo yelled, but could not see his cousin. Nor did he hear him scream again, though from somewhere near Boromir and Gimli he could hear Pippin shrieking Merry's name. "Merry!" Frodo shouted again and began trying to push through the horde toward the source of the scream. Even as he did so, he heard Aragorn calling for them to get out. Intent on reaching the side of his young cousin, Frodo did not look toward the Gate but continued trying to press back. Sam called for him and their eyes met briefly.

Frodo heard Aragorn screaming again at them to get out but where did he expect them to go? A great, swarthy orc came at Frodo and, without hesitation, he thrust Sting through the orc's throat, coating himself in black blood as he did so. Scrambling backward to avoid being crushed by his falling foe, Frodo turned his head and saw, finally, why Aragorn called to them.

There was a path. There was a break to the door, and Aragorn held it, for the moment. Frodo looked at the blue sky outside, and then he heard Pippin wailing for Merry again. He turned his back on escape and dived forward, dodging oncoming orcs, back into the direction from which he had heard Merry's scream.

Sam too had heard the Ranger's summons and the red mist drifting before his eyes cleared a little upon seeing the unfettered sky beyond the gaping maw of the great doors. Escape! Clean air and sunlight! But no ... no! Frodo was not heeding Strider, he was turning around – NO! He was going after his cousins. Sam knew he was.

To Gimli's dismay he caught a glimpse of Frodo disappearing into the swarm of orcs; Gimli knew that Frodo would never willingly leave his cousin behind. Pippin's shouts for Merry jumped into a new register of panic, and Gimli watched in horror as the littlest of their charges rushed into the pack, after Frodo or Merry or both, he wasn't sure. "Ridiculous hobbits," he groaned, and looked around for Boromir.

Sam heard Strider's furious shout behind him as he turned to follow his master. Frodo had reached Pippin. The tweenager looked ghastly, his sharp face utterly white where black blood did not mar it. Frodo looked up and Sam's heart twisted at the desperation he saw in his master's eyes.

Sam dodged an orc as it staggered past, its claws locked around its throat, bracketing an arrow that quivered there. He raised his sword but the orc fell, its life spent, blood issuing from its fanged mouth. Old Mr Bilbo's stories rose unbidden in his mind of battles and splendour and righteous victory and Sam wondered where all the glory was. Here was only pain and blood and death and knowing people you loved could die between one heartbeat and the next.

Strider roared at them again and Sam looked back just in time to see the Ranger gesturing towards the open doors with his great sword. The man's words were lost in the screams and cries that echoed from the rock walls but his meaning was unmistakable. Frodo had Pippin by the collar and was pulling the youngster upright.

Another few strides and Sam was with them, circling around Pippin to push both of them away from this open place, closer to the walls where they might be sheltered on one side. He was appalled by the filth that covered Frodo; his master looked like he had bathed in black blood. Sam could not tell if any of that blood was Frodo's. It covered him completely, matting down his dark hair, reflecting in the uncertain light like grease.

Sam tried to draw their attention to Strider but Pippin was oblivious, whimpering, "Merry! Merry!" Sam saw that he held his cousin's sword. Mr Merry would never have dropped it willingly. Boromir had drilled that lesson into them. But they had hesitated too long. Four great orcs surrounded them, cutting them off from escape. Snarling mouths leered at them as the hobbits set themselves back to back.

They can feel it, Sam realised. That evil _thing_ he's carrying. They might not know what it is but they're drawn to it. Pippin must have understood that at the same moment, for he and Sam met each other's eyes for a moment over Frodo's shoulder. Then they stepped in front of the Ring-bearer and tried to shield him behind them as the orcs surged forward.

Madly, Boromir attempted to race to the side of the downed Pippin, hoping he was not too late. Try as he might, he could make no headway against the sea of bodies separating him from the littlest hobbit. Boromir saw Frodo, with Sam on his heels, dash back into the fray, away from obvious freedom and against the furious shouts of Aragorn. '_That stupid hobbit! He'll be killed. These foul beasts will get the Ring and all will be lost!' _

Someone dragged Pippin off the blood and ooze covered floor, the touch familiar enough that even in his state of fury and despair he did not swing with either blade and he looked up to see Frodo, drenched in black orc's blood. He heard himself whimpering, over and over, "Merry! Merry! Oh, my Merry!" Sam too was at his side and trying to tell him something, but Pippin couldn't focus. Merry was hurt, maybe dead and he had to get to him. He had to help him!

Then suddenly he found himself being herded back towards the wall with Frodo; Sam pushing them away from the main conflict as much as was possible and further away from helping Merry. He had to help his cousin ... had to help his cousin. His cousin? Frodo. Frodo and the Ring. That was why he was here, why Merry had fallen, why Gandalf had fallen. They had to get Frodo out!

He whispered a fervent plea that one of the others who was closer could reach the dear, beloved cousin that had fallen and an even more fervent plea that Merry, alive or dead, would understand why he had to get Frodo away, no matter what the cost, knowing even as he did so that his Merry would more than understand, he would be proud and that knowledge spurred Pippin into thinking quicker than he had ever had to in his life.

Just as he was about to shout at Samwise to help him get Frodo safely to Aragorn and out to freedom, the three hobbits were cut off by four huge orcs. Sam and he reflexively tried to shield Frodo, their eyes meeting and understanding and with a scream the foremost orc stumbled in its attack and suddenly dropped dead with Pippin's blade in its midsection. Pippin sensed more than saw Sam behind him, both of them still trying to shield Frodo and another orc dropped.

The other two orcs backed away slightly, growling. They would lunge again at any second but were keeping just out of reach. Somehow Frodo had to get out alive, that was all that was important. Pippin didn't lower the threatening blade he held in his right hand but gave Sam a push with his left, the hand that still held Merry's blade. He realised that there were tears running down his face at the thought of Merry and he pushed back his grief. There would be time to mourn later, if it were necessary and if he was alive himself. Mourn _after_ the battle or others will die...He focused again on the task at hand.

"Sam, you get Frodo out of here and get him out now!" Pippin gasped, not taking his eyes off the threatening orcs. "Sam, get him out, while Aragorn yet holds the way!

"Both of you, do as I say or they are dead for nothing!" Pippin shuddered that he was already numbering Merry dead along with Gandalf. "Everyone, everything, dead for nothing! Now go!"

Then there was no more time for thought and Pippin threw himself forward, years of tackling two dear, older cousins giving him the knowledge of just where to hit. These creatures outweighed him by far, but Merry had taught him that weight wasn't always a factor when it came to facing an opponent bigger than yourself. Then he was piling into the two bewildered orcs in a form of attack they had no experience with, his arms just long enough to wrap around a thigh each and all three fell into a heap on the stone floor, the slippery blood causing them to slide away from the other two hobbits and giving them an opening to reach the outside.

Frodo stared at his youngest cousin, too shocked for a breath to react. As Pippin tackled the advancing foes about the legs, Frodo had the ridiculous thought that Pip had used this very technique many times in childhood to bring down a larger playmate. But this was not play. Pippin was rushing to his death!

He could feel the weight of the Ring around his neck as never before. If not for It, he would have followed Pippin into the fray, and to certain death.

Instead, he turned his back on his cousin, and fled toward Aragorn, dimly aware of Sam at his side. The Ranger had just decapitated a giant brute of an orc, and beyond the creature's body lay fresh air and freedom.

Merry lay face down, a steadily growing red pool forming under him. As carefully as the circumstances allowed, Legolas gently rolled him onto his back. He instantly located the stab-wound on the hobbit's left side, just under the ribcage and near the heart, the knife buried to the hilt. There was no time to tend the wound but the elf was sure it was mortal, placing a hand on Merry's brow and finding the flesh cooling rapidly. Long fingers hesitantly rested against the young hobbit's neck and he held his breath and waited.

Merry was floating somewhere near the roof of the dim cavern. It was an interesting sensation as he was unaware up until now that he could fly at all. He looked down upon the scene of mayhem below him and his heart seized in clenching pain as he saw Pippin besieged on all sides by terrifying creatures, all intent upon slaying his little cousin and his friends.

That was when Merry first realized that he was dead. Grief struck him like a palpable thing, not for himself but – Pippin! They had not even said goodbye. How could he leave without a last touch of his hand, a farewell word from his Pip?

Was death supposed to be like this, filled with regret and sorrow? Perhaps if you stayed at home in the Shire and lived to a ripe old age it was not this way. Perhaps then your spirit could leave fulfilled and happy that all was done and you would not feel wrenched from your loved ones so cruelly.

Merry watched with frantic anxiety as he saw Pippin race back into the thick of things and tackle two orcs the way he had shown his younger cousin to bring down a heftier opponent, take them low and use all your body weight. "Pippin, no!" he heard himself saying, "Get back! Don't die too." His little cousin was doughty and tenacious in battle though, Merry knew that, but he felt so helpless just floating here, unable to help or even cry out. Why did he have to die so stupidly? Merry berated himself now, he had lost hold of his sword – the one thing Boromir had said he must never do. '_Stupid, clumsy hobbit_,' he thought bitterly, '_Pip, I'm so sorry._'

Merry wondered how long he would be allowed to stay here and watch the fate of his companions – perhaps forever. Maybe that was what happened when you failed. Pippin had started towards where he lay, but then turned to push Frodo and Sam back in the direction of the door. Merry felt his heart leap again, with fear and pride. Fear for the safety of all his companions but great pride that Pippin had remembered the importance of the Quest, to keep safe Frodo. He had resisted the urge to chase after Merry's dead body – it would have been pointless anyway.

Merry looked sadly at his own crumpled corpse. He was lying curled up in a foetal position in a large pool of blood. At least he had not been decapitated. Around him lay the ruin of the three orcs that had attacked him and the troll, also slain now. His hand was stretched out and his fingers splayed as though he were reaching for something. Pippin? But he couldn't reach his cousin. He had wanted to touch his hand one last time, something in his soul had refused to leave without saying goodbye – without Pippin.

-0000-

TBC


	2. Divided We Stand

The East Gate  
  
Authors: The Eastgaters  
Beta: Marigold & Llinos  
Final Edit: Llinos  
  
Cast List:  
Frodo – Baylor  
Samwise – Budgielover  
Pippin – Marigold  
Merry – Llinos  
Legolas – Mainframe  
Aragorn – Nilramiel  
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker  
Gimli – Q

Chapter 2 – Divided We Stand  
  
"Get out! Get out!"

Legolas held his breath as his fingers felt around Merry's neck, frantically seeking the sign of life that he had almost given up hope of finding. '_There! He lives yet!'_ Relief washed through him as a weak but steady pulse fluttered against his fingertips.

Aragorn's command rang out and without a second thought Legolas sheathed one of his blades and lifted the unconscious hobbit, shifting him to cradle child-fashion in his left arm, Merry's face pressed protectively against the elf's neck while Legolas brandished his right hand weapon and started for the Gate.

Aragorn had charged him with Merry's safety and that was now his first priority. He dodged and parried, slashed and decapitated his way towards the arch of light and eventually stood before the last of Morgoth's creatures that barred him from escape. Though he knew that his chances were slim, fighting one handed and using his own body to protect Merry, he squared his shoulders and charged.

Aragorn was not a man given to panic, or even on most occasions fear, but he could feel the alarm rising steadily within him as he struggled to keep open the way out. He could see that Frodo and the other two hobbits had heard his call; and he could see that they were not obeying it. Stubborn, foolish halflings!

"Get out!" he shouted again, desperation clutching at his heart even as he rendered two more of the filthy orcs headless, "Legolas! Boromir! Gimli! Get out now!"

Legolas at least was coming. Aragorn could see him struggling to reach him through the press of foul bodies. He was fighting one-handed, carrying…it must be Merry. Aragorn could see the other halflings back near the wall, their way blocked by a handful of large orcs.

"Frodo! Sam! Pippin!"

His shouts seemed toneless in the din beating upon his ears. He could not reach them and still hold the way, but neither could he abandon the Ring-bearer. He twisted, impaling another large brute on his sword and stole a glance behind him. Legolas was coming up fast, and Oh! He breathed a sigh of relief; here came Frodo and Samwise as well, running through the gore with unreadable expressions on their blood-streaked faces. But where was Pippin?

As the Ranger searched the throng for the smallest hobbit, Legolas passed by him with his bleeding burden, only to find himself confronted at the Gate by yet another massive orc. Even as the elf ducked his head and charged, Aragorn, with a fury born of grief and fear, swung his great sword, the blade whistling over Legolas' head and decapitating the huge beast as cleanly as a hot knife cuts through butter. The monstrous orc fell outward, through the East Gate, and brilliant sunlight filled the space where it had stood.

Boromir saw Pippin intentionally throw himself into the attackers. Stunned into silence, the man watched as his youngest student employed a manoeuvre he'd never considered. The flying tackle which, in their youth, his friends used while playing Keep The Ball. And more recently, Merry and Pippin had successfully used in practice to bring down not only him, but on one occasion Aragorn as well.

Although Pippin had tackled the orcs on purpose and fully expected his short life to end at any moment, part of his brain was most upset and protested his coming demise with a drawn out shriek of terror as he slid across the slimy floor with two large orcs on top of him.

The shriek rose in volume as, still pinned under the disorientated orcs, he was able to glimpse a horde of the hideous creatures bearing down upon him. Though he could feel the hilts of the two swords miraculously still in his hands, his arms were pinned beneath the hideous creatures and he could make no defence. He was going to die.

He was still screaming wildly when suddenly the two orcs were plucked into the air, there was a sickly cracking sound as the orcs were casually tossed aside and then somehow Boromir was setting him upright again on his own two feet. Pleased at this sudden turn in his fortune, he stared up at his rescuer, wide-eyed and open mouthed, still dizzy and disorientated. Boromir stared back at him.

"That was most surprising, Master Took".

"Surprised it worked." Pippin gasped back. Then the rest of the horde fell upon them, effectively cutting them off from the route taken by Aragorn and Legolas and the other hobbits.

With Pippin on his heels, Boromir roared at Gimli. "Which way!" he bellowed, as he had no idea where he was actually going. He spied a short ramp, which looked promising because it had no wall of orcs pressing down it and prayed to his father's god that the dwarf would be able to pull a miracle out of his pack and get them to a place where they could regroup and plan their own exit. "Gimli, find us a way out! I will draw the remaining beasts from Frodo and the others!" All three rushed into the melee. Gimli had an axe in one hand and a knife in the other; Pippin had two small swords, one in each hand, and Boromir swung his massive blade from side to side as if it were a scythe – cutting down orcs as if they were stems of grass.

Boromir had done a good job training the hobbits, Gimli thought, watching the youngster wield his blades with shocking ferocity if not perfect control. Both Gimli and Pippin were panting with exhaustion and sodden with filth, yet the little one fought as fiercely as the dwarf.

How desperately he battled. The knowledge that even the youngest and the smallest among them was drenched in foul orc blood yet still fighting, spurred Gimli on and a surge of protectiveness swept through the dwarf. That these innocents should be forced to fight! Gimli renewed his attack, determined to do all in his power to save at least this small friend.

They were being pushed up the ramp away from their escape route by the rising tide of orcs. The more they slew, it seemed, the more appeared. Sheltered between Gimli and Boromir, Pippin realised that the way behind them was clear for now, but the orcs still pressed them back. His weary mind was resigned to the certainty that the enemy was without number and would just keep coming and coming and all he could do was hack and slice and parry and try to stay alive as long as he could.

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Still Merry watched from his strange aerial position, but now the scene was changing, he was going out of the Mine. _'No! It could not be! He would not go!'_ Merry drew himself up and finally stirred his thoughts out of acceptance. That was why he had lingered. He could not leave, not without Pippin. He had the bigger part of Merry's soul in his keeping and Merry knew in that moment that nothing, not Sauron or Ilúvatar Himself, could part them forever. Death would not prevail, he had to live, he could not die – not so pointlessly – not without a fight!

Legolas had picked up his limp form and was carrying him towards the Gate and freedom, but away from Pippin. Merry summoned up the last part of his will and, reaching down inside himself, discovered the greatest strength lay in his deep love for his little cousin. He felt a tenuous silken thread that led back to his damaged body and, although he knew that was the way to appalling pain and distress, it was better than this… this void of despair, of waiting and watching the others fall, watching Pip fighting for his life and perhaps he could still be of use to the Quest, to Frodo.

Merry had not expected the pain to be so overwhelming. It filled his whole being – nothing else was there except unremitting agony. His body was being jolted around and the pain was tearing his body in two. His eyes, already open, began slowly to focus and he realised a voice had whispered 'Merry' close to his ear. A face now became clear and he recognised Legolas looking anxiously into his eyes. It must have been him that had spoken his name.

Merry could not force himself to think coherently, let alone speak with any sense. But he could feel now where most of the pain was coming from – his left side, near his heart and he could feel the jagged knife still in the wound, cutting with every jolt. His hand went automatically to the wound but, as it touched the place, more terrible, fiery red pain engulfed him and he cried out again, his scream ending in a sobbing keen that hitched his painful breathing.

A single thought forced it's way through the unbearable agony – the reason he had come back – to help his cousins. "P-p-pip?" He managed to gasp.

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Backing away up the narrow ramp, Boromir had no more time to consider their escape. He took a short breath, slammed his sword into an onrushing foe and shouted again to Gimli to find a way out behind them, adding "Keep Pippin between us, he's not much longer on his feet". Battling the wave of orcs, Boromir tripped over one foul beast as it slipped in the blood and gore. He went down himself in spite of his frantic efforts to remain upright.

Pippin's short sword swept by Boromir's ear and into the face of the lunging beast. Pippin found himself on his own knees, thrusting his blade almost between the monster's eyes and the sight made him gag.

The large orc lay dead on the ground effectively blocking its comrades' path as the two warriors knelt, out of breath. Boromir rose to his feet with a mighty "hrumpf". As he stepped back, taking up a wide legged stance, to his alarm he knocked over the hobbit. Pippin had not been able to rise fully to his feet. Reaching down swiftly with his shielded arm, Boromir swept up the young one and threw him over his shoulder. He yelled out to Aragorn, partly to tell the Ranger that he and the other two would hold the defence and partly to keep the attention on them and away from the Ring-bearer.

Gimli still held his position at the man's side. He began arguing about not retreating. Something about Dwarven Honour that he, Gimli, would hold the line and Boromir should remove the young hobbit from the fray. Boromir found himself shouting at the advancing orcs, at Aragorn, and at the stiff necked dwarf. From his vantage point he could see the remainder of the Fellowship slipping out into the light while the three of them were caught, but that was what he had wanted. They were losing ground by the second, though, and if something did not turn events in their favour soon…

Pippin had felt Boromir catch him up and for a moment he allowed himself to go limp with exhaustion. Dimly, realising that he was drifting too far from reality, Pippin forced himself to rouse and demanded that he be put down.

Boromir set the lad firmly down on his furry feet, making sure that Pippin could stand on his own before letting him go.

Back on the slippery ground Pippin was fading fast, but still doggedly fought on. If they could just hold out a little longer! The voices of Gimli and Boromir filtered into his consciousness, raised loudly in argument over the din and Pippin tried to focus on what they were saying. Boromir wanted Gimli to find a way out, and Gimli was being stubborn as usual.

Realising that he was near to becoming a real liability to the two much stronger, seasoned warriors, Pippin let them continue the fight and put his back to the wall, edging up the ramp carefully. He would try to make himself useful by searching himself for a defensible position if Gimli would not.

He hadn't gone more than a few paces when he saw something that nearly undid him. It was blood…red blood, not black. Pippin came close to losing his reason and twisted his head around surveying the cavern, suddenly recognising that he was at the place he had seen his Merry stabbed. A keening whine began at the back of his throat. So much blood, so much…'_No! No! No! Not my Merry! Please not!'_ He could not deal with this, he could not! Frantically he staggered a few steps further up the ramp, faint and dizzy, needing to get away from the pool of crimson.

He reached as deep inside himself as he could, braced himself for one more effort and raised his head, took one more step forward…and saw it – an alcove just ahead, hidden in the shadows, and blocked in the front by a pile of rubble, too high for him to see over, but not too high for the three of them to climb over. They stood a chance of defending themselves indefinitely if they sheltered behind the pile of rubble! He turned and shouted shrilly with almost his last shred of energy, "Boromir! Gimli! Here!" Then he slumped against the wall, still on his own two legs, blades clenched in a death grip in his hands, but with no more strength left to give.

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Closing his eyes against the sun, Frodo ran. He ran until he could sense that no longer did walls of rock surround him. He ran until he saw only the white of forgotten sunlight behind his eyes. He ran until he was gulping in great breaths of clean, cold air, and only then did he become aware that he was sobbing.

He bent over nearly double as his feet finally ceased their frantic pace, clutching his sides. The sobs were dry and harsh and tore at his throat. It seemed to Frodo that the Ring itself was dragging him down, to fall upon his knees in anguish. His body shook with sudden chill, and he bit down on a hand to try and calm his grief.

He had just abandoned his comrades – he did not even know how many, he suddenly realized – to brutal and horrific deaths. Gandalf had fallen. His most beloved cousins, both of whom he had first cradled as the tiniest babes, he had left them to their fate. He did not even know where Sam was.

Drawing in one last, rasping sob, Frodo forced himself to quell his grief. Then he stood and opened his eyes to see what remained of his companions.

Just in front of him bounded Legolas, covering the rocky ground gracefully and swiftly. In his arms was a small, cloaked bundle that did not move. Behind him followed Sam, blinking back tears in the sudden starkness of the lighted world, Aragorn a mere pace behind, one hand on the hobbit's shoulder.

Frodo shuddered again, and was suddenly overcome with a shakiness that made him crash to his bottom on the nearest rock. There was blood on the bundle in Legolas' arms. Blood on the hobbit-sized body that Legolas carried and bent his head over in concern. The too-bright world grew dimmer and distant. It was difficult to breathe, and his battered sides screamed in agony.

"Gandalf," he thought. "Gandalf, help us," and then shock settled in and he thought nothing at all.

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Pippin's voice captured the attention of the battling man and dwarf. "Boromir! Gimli! Here!" he cried. He was leaning against a low wall of rubble, both blades still clutched determinedly. Gimli realised the youngster was near collapse, and that Boromir was right – they needed a respite, if only to save the youngling. He clambered over the rubble, and pulled Pippin after him, ignoring both the hobbit's attempts to help and his complaining at the rough handling.

"Now listen, young hobbit," he began, but suddenly realised where they were. "This way! You, man, follow me!"

He charged to his right, short legs stumping vigorously through the detritus that years of neglect had mounded in the corridor. And before him he saw, as expected, as hoped, a half-collapsed wooden door. Boromir ran past him, scooping Pippin up, and bounded into the chamber. His head popped back out, and he said, "We cannot shut it!"

"Oh, yes, we can, my lad," Gimli assured him, feeling at home at last. He ducked inside and peered above the door. "That keystone – if I can knock it loose in just the right way," he grunted as he swung his largest axe, flat end toward the keystone, " - will let the supporting work fall."

"Are you mad?" Boromir asked him, moving away from the opening and shielding the hobbit with his body.

"What are you _doing_?" Pippin whined. "Don't trap us in here!"

"Hush, lad. I know what I'm at. There's another way out, a longer way, t'is true, but dwarves have always built alternate routes. We have too much knowledge of the Deep not to."

"Gimli, friend," Boromir began, but just then Gimli's axe made contact with the keystone in just the right fashion.

"Yes!" he gasped as the supports collapsed, neatly blocking the entrance just as he had planned.

"No!" cried Pippin and Boromir in unison as the squared-off stones continued to fall toward them, and down Gimli went, still grasping his axes, and sputtering in outrage at the stones' betrayal of their master.

Silence. They were locked in the chamber. Gimli groaned, remembering Gandalf reading from the book they'd found in The Chamber of Mazarbul. We have barred the gates. We cannot get out.

_'We cannot get out. At least not with me lying in the stones I have brought down on myself,'_ he thought, peering through the settling dust at his painfully twisted leg. Bloody, exhausted, and bowed, he and his two companions were alive. More than that, he did not know.

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For Sam, exiting the Gate was like entering into a different world, one he had once known but now seemed foreign. Had he once lived in a place with sunlight and fresh air? It must have been so, yet this was a strange and startling landscape that greeted him. Instinctively, he sought out that most familiar of sights – his master.

Frodo sat on a rock a small way down from the Gate, staring vacantly in front of him as he shivered. As Legolas called for Aragorn's help and the Ranger let go of Sam's shoulder, the hobbit made straight for the Ring-bearer, still stumbling a little in the sudden brightness and the weight of unprocessed grief.

"Mr Frodo?" Sam asked as he approached. "Sir? Are you all right?"

Frodo did not answer, and Sam could see how pale he was. "Sir?" he asked again, and took one of his master's cold, limp hands in his own. "Please, sir, it's me. It's your Sam. 'Tis all right, sir. There weren't nothing else to be done. I'm here now, Mr Frodo. You just let me take care of you." Thus saying, Sam struggled out of his pack, retrieved a blanket, and wrapped it tenderly about Frodo's shoulders.

"Weren't nothing else to be done," he whispered again to the Ring-bearer as he drew the blanket tighter. "You just keep recollecting that, sir." That Frodo had done all that he could Sam had no doubt, he only wished he could be sure about his own deeds. Could he have done anything different, and if he had, would Mr Merry and Mr Pippin be sitting here beside them, alive and well?

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"Well, that went well..." Pippin began. He quickly staggered back and closed his mouth shut with a snap. Whatever he was going to add was cut off by a hailstorm of small stones and dust as the broken arch settled more permanently into a pile of rubble.

All three stopped to listen as sounds of fury raged on beyond the fallen stones. The orcs were incensed that their prey had managed to put up such a solid wall of defence. A few stones shook and a cloud of dust puffed out as it became obvious the orcs were throwing their bodies against the tumbled rubble.

"Do you think they'll get in?" Pippin asked quietly from his spot at the back of the room. He was still standing, legs splayed, blades clutched in both hands, splattered from head to toe in bloody filth and dust. Boromir did not look back, but kept his eyes on the blocked passage.

"Fear not, little one. They are as stuck out there as we are trapped in here."

"We are not trapped," grumbled Gimli, determined to shake from his mind the exact feeling that they were. "These guard rooms always have secondary exits." The rest of his comment was lost as the alarming bay of demon-hounds sighting a quarry shook them all to their bones.

"They must have spotted Aragorn and the others making their way out. I surely hope those foul beasts do not chase them all the way to the gates of Mordor!" Boromir narrowed his eyes as he strained to hear anything more that would indicate what was happening on the other side of their prison wall.

Pippin's sharp intake of breath did not go unnoticed by the other two, and, although they did not take their attention from the wall, Boromir could feel the dwarf glowering in his direction and instantly regretted his unthinking words.

"Even though the beasts fight in the cavern with the light of day nearby, they would not actually pass the gates into the strong light. Orcs, unlike dwarves, cannot abide full sun. They shrivel and die under its glare." Gimli's matter-of-fact statement calmed the hobbit's already frazzled nerves only slightly.

It was at that moment, the howling intensified and grew into a frustrated keening, frightening even the usually staid man, though he would never admit it. "Their fear of sun is well and good. For it appears that our efforts to draw the orcs away from our friends has worked. If not putting us in a slight predicament ourselves." His sarcasm, never understated, did nothing to improve the dwarf's mood or lessen Pippin's unease. Boromir listened again, straining to hear, knocking a fine sieving of dust from the walls as he pressed up against them.

The silence was broken only by the trickling sound of more crumbling mortar raining down and was punctuated by Pippin's rapid breathing, Gimli's quiet grunts of effort, and Boromir's measured breaths. The rocks shifted again and a knowing look of alarm, barely perceptible in the dim filtered light, flittered over Gimli's face. The rocks looked as to fall again!

Boromir stayed in his place beside the dwarf despite Gimli's best attempts at shooing him away. The man made to put protective hands over the prostrate dwarf, only to have them batted away with a disgruntled "hrumph!"

"Maybe we should try to move him," Peregrin offered.

"The rocks look too unstable to just pull him out."

"Oh, well, then..." but the hobbit just trailed off his sentence rather than offer any more advice.

"It is just a scratch, young hobbit. Nothing more. I'll be up in no time. Just let me catch my breath."

"Still, Master Dwarf, I think Peregrin is wise to suggest you move. You are dangerously close to these rocks and they look as if they will shift again." As if to illustrate Boromir's point, a small rock plopped down between them as the man knelt and the dwarf lay in the debris.

"I've seen more than my share of a little rock dust, man! You need not stand over me like an anxious mother!" Another **_crack_** stopped them all and this time, Gimli did not mutter an oath as Boromir quickly knelt over him and took the brunt of a small rock on his shoulder.

_'All that fighting and I wind up more battered by an idiotic dwarvish need to do things the hard way than by an opponent's blade!'_ Boromir thought but wisely did not voice. He'd survived many battles by listening to his senses and right now there was something extremely unsettling about the way the dwarf was not immediately jumping to his feet.

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Never in the two and a half thousand years of his young life had Legolas been more relieved to be under the warm welcoming rays of Anar. The light welcomed him as the cool, fresh breeze moved through his matted locks, caressing his face and hands as he slowed, then came to a halt at what he deemed to be a safe distance from Moria, out of the range of any orc arrows.

Briefly looking behind him he saw Frodo, dazed and wavering, making his way towards him and his keen vision picked out Aragorn and Sam just reaching the first steps past the Gate. Aragorn's hand was firmly planted on Sam's shoulder directing him as the hobbit stumbled to keep the pace the Ranger set as he took the steps two at a time.

Gently as a mother laying her newborn in a crib, Legolas laid Merry down upon the unkind hard rocks, dropping beside him so that he could continue to cradle the hobbit's head and upper body in his arms. The amount of blood was daunting and Merry had made little or no sound while Legolas carried him, his eyes closed and his body limp.

Now, as he was placed on the ground, the injured youngster began to stir. Legolas was not sure if this was a good or bad thing, but at least he knew Merry was alive.

As Legolas cradled Merry, he noted the hobbit's lips become a thinly pressed line as he began to shiver, brows drawn together as consciousness prickled at him.

"Aragorn! _Mellon-nin,_ Merry has need of your skill!" he shouted and watched as the Ranger outran Samwise and dropped to his knee beside the elf, placing a hand on his back for comfort, though for himself or Legolas the elf was not sure.

Merry had been floating. He had been floating and then he had come back to the ground, but now all was agony! Excruciating, brain-numbing agony.

"Pip… Wh-where P-Pip?" Merry's head rolled from side to side as he tried to focus on his surroundings and memory of what had just happened.

This would not do, he needed to concentrate.

As the Ranger briefly leaned on the elf, he flinched, noting for the first time a slash in his clothing, down to the flesh and past, even as blood warmed Aragorn's hand.

"You are injured!" the man stated with alarm.

Legolas reached behind to probe the length of the gash, determining it as not too deep. "Just a scratch. Concern yourself with the little one. His time grows short, I fear."

Merry felt hands running over him, large hands, human hands. Not a hobbit then, not Pippin or Frodo or even Sam. The hands found the source of the hurt and touched it – probably lightly a voice in the back of Merry's head informed him – but it felt as though an orc had caught hold of the knife blade and jammed it further in.

"Aaaiiieee!" Merry cried out in pure agony, unable to control himself. He heard the scream but the voice seemed unreal to the hobbit, as if it came from somewhere else. It made no sense to him – who was that screaming and why?

Why could he not concentrate?

Legolas watched as the Ranger's frown deepened. They were both startled as Merry released a broken wail, eyes wide open and blinking rapidly, hand desperately clutching the air around him blindly. Legolas moved to Merry's opposite side to give the Ranger room to work, clasping the hobbit's clawing hands and whispering in elvish. Merry seemed to calm at his ministrations, allowing Aragorn to cut away the jacket and weskit when the ornate buttons refused to cooperate with the Ranger's larger fingers.

"Merry? Merry, can you hear me? It is I, Legolas." The elf spoke in a comforting voice yet when he laid a hand to his brow to gauge his temperature the hobbit weakly tried to pull his hand away in growing distress.

"Merry, you are safe." No response and the little hand that had tried to pry his away flopped back at his side all strength gone.

Merry knew he had to stop those hands from causing him more pain. He forced his arms to move and flailed about, trying to capture the intrusive fingers that were probing and hurting, but he had no strength and other hands quickly restrained him. A soft voice whispered nonsense in his ear – it sounded pleasant but he could not make it out.

He had to concentrate…

His eyes began to make out a figure looming above him, the owner of those prying hands no doubt. His coat was being torn off and his weskit too. "No… no, no, no! Don't touch me!" Merry managed to wail as he felt the terrible hands drawing closer to the wound again. Another voice fell upon his ears, someone was talking – to him? No, to someone near him, talking about him.

Concentrate!

It was Aragorn. Merry eyes now confirmed what his ears had told him. Aragorn would know where the others were. "Pl-please Strider… wh- where Pip? Please, is Frodo – is he all right?"

When the hobbit's chest was laid bare it revealed an ugly, jagged knife wound to the left side that still oozed blood. Deep bruises were already blossoming along that whole side until they disappeared from view beneath the waistband of his britches.

"_Mellon_, is there anything I can do?" Legolas asked.

"Not at the moment, but go and see to Frodo and Sam and let me know if they are injured," the man said as his hands flew over the hobbit, searching fingers mapping Merry from head to toe before refocusing on the most obvious injury again.

Legolas laid Merry on the ground and softly made his way over to where Samwise was quietly talking to a non-responsive Frodo. As the elf neared he saw Sam turn towards him with a pleading look, then quickly turn back to Frodo.

As the elf knelt down in front of Frodo he noted the extreme pallor of the skin where it showed through the gore. The large blue eyes stared straight ahead and held a glazed look. The hand that Sam held and stroked soothingly was limp.

Legolas reached to brush a few of the rich dark locks from Frodo's eyes. Frodo did not respond and Sam murmured some soothing nonsense. Legolas looked down at him. Sam's normally open, friendly eyes, that always held such joy and wonder, were brimming with tears, and were regarding him now with overwhelming distress.

"Sam, are you hurt?" Legolas asked softly.

"No. No, I am not hurt."

"Sam? What of Frodo?" Legolas looked closely at the Ring-bearer, concerned, but he made no sign.

Sam collected himself at the mention of Frodo. "He don't seem to have taken a wound, it's all just been too much for my Master. Poor Pippin. Poor Mr Merry. I should have been able to do more to help them, then maybe Pip wouldn't most likely be dead and Merry wouldn't be…wouldn't be..." He broke off, nearly sobbing aloud, only his worry for Frodo keeping him in any check.

Legolas put a gentle hand on Sam's cheek. "Do not blame yourself for what befell our companions. All fought valiantly and did what they could Sam, you no less than any. Such are the fortunes of war. I will leave you to care for Frodo and see if I can be of assistance to Aragorn. Call me if you have need."

As the elf rose stiffly and walked away he heard Sam resume his one-sided conversation with Frodo.

He rolled his shoulders; they felt stiff. And in that moment an immense weariness washed through him that almost took his breath away and his step faltered until it passed.

_'Mithrandir…'_

As he neared Aragorn he shook his head as if to help shake the thought from his mind and instead wondered about Boromir, young Pippin and Gimli. Gimli! That infuriating rock-headed dwarf was not among them and, though Legolas would never admit it, he wished that he were here beside him now.

He realised with a start that the dwarf 's banter often coincided with stressful times and it made him wonder if his argumentative way was deliberate. He silently prayed to Elbereth for their safety.

"How are Frodo and Sam?" the Ranger asked without looking up.

"Their bodies are not injured, though I cannot say the same for their hearts," he whispered sadly.

Aragorn's eyes flicked up briefly in understanding before returning to Merry. "So it is in war. Innocence is lost. Friends are lost," he said softly as he worked on and Legolas knew that he was thinking of Mithrandir.

Legolas knelt beside Aragorn. "How does Merry fare?"

Aragorn sighed. "Not well, I'm afraid. We may lose him yet. This wound is deep and has caused much damage. Yet I will put forth all my skill."

"I doubt it not," Legolas answered, and bent to look at the hobbit, then turned his gaze back up to the Ranger. "What happened my friend? Mithrandir fell and it is as if we fell with him."

Aragorn drew a deep breath and dragged his eyes momentarily from the ghastly wound in the little hobbit's chest. "I have never felt such deep despair, I know not where to find the strength to continue. Boromir, Gimli and Pippin lost, Merry dying – but as long as Frodo lives and bears the Ring, the Quest continues. That is our oath and our duty. Although divided – we must try to stand together!"

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TBC

Author's Notes

Hi Llinos in the chair. So glad that so many have checked out this story. At the time of posting chapter 2 we have received over 700 hits – which is wonderful – hope you all come back for the rest of the story. We enjoyed working on it – and it's still not quite finished – yikes!

The characters have insisted on answering your review comments in person and I'm not about to argue with them. This time it's Merry and Pippin.

See you in the next chapter,  
Llinos

Questions and Answers from Merry and Pippin

Hobbitsand kilts This is an interesting twist to take. Poor Merry.  
Merry: Twist indeed. Poor Merry indeed! Why must we hobbits suffer so! Oh because that's what readers like – fair enough.

Unhobbity Hobbit: And you can't be killing off Merry because that would mean Llinos is only in the first chapter.  
Merry: Well dead or alive, I have to stay in the story to stop Llinos sulking – although I'm not out of the woods yet!

Samwise The Strong: Good story, people!! Good to see that a group writing works out well with some.  
Merry: Well we are a Fellowship bound in duty and honour – so we had to kinda get along.

lovethosehobbits Oh! Loving this, cant wait for the next chappie. Tree  
Merry: Me neither, this is very uncomfortable – ouch!

lindahoyland: This is a beautifully written and exciting story. I just can't wait to read more!  
Merry: Why thank you kind reviewer!

Ainu Laire Oh, God, a character death? Poor, poor Merry.  
Merry: Yes I do suffer a lot at the hands of Llinos – damn I wish I'd got Baylor to write me!  
Ainu Laire: While I'm at it, poor Pippin!  
Pippin: Indeed! Wait until you see what I have to endure in this story! And without my poor, poor Merry, sniff!

Thehobbitgirl: Poor Pippin. He'll be so alone without Merry.  
Pippin: It's so heartrending, isn't it? I am only a tweenager after all. Maybe eighteen or so in human years…but I will do my best!

Pipspebble WAH! WHY do we have to wait? Why, why, WHY? This is sweet torture, this is!  
Merry: I'm sorry about you having to wait, but just think how hard it is for some of us, with large daggers stuck in our chests, having to wait all this time.

nitedancer: Oh My poor, poor Pip, He's gonna be heartbroken!...Can I cuddle, and hold him, and squeeze him, and kiss him, to make him feel better please?..Huh?..CanI?...Can I?...  
Pippin: Um…yes, please. I am free this weekend if you have no other plans…

Melilot hill: Oh no, this looks like another thing I'll get addicted to!  
Merry: There are clinics you know – but I wouldn't recommend them – we like you addicted!

Lindelea1: I was wondering where Legolas was... and I didn't "see" him when Merry's spirit was looking down at the action  
Merry: Patience, patience! I have just been mortally stabbed you know – it's difficult to keep track of every one! Oh and this is a serial – you know there will be more next time.

Anso the Hobbit: The hobbits are so brave, and they fight so valiantly…  
Pippin: Yes, I am and I certainly do. Thank you for noticing!  
Merry: Hey! I did my best! Not my fault that troll found me so irresistible.

Elwyna: Please don't tell me that Merry is really dead - I'll scream! Other than a possibly slain hobbit…  
Merry: I've been called some things, but a possibly slain hobbit is a new one! But thank you for your kind concern, more than I get from certain Ring-bearers who shall be nameless!

Shirebound: Omigosh, I can't wait to find out what happens next.  
Merry: I'm afraid you have very little choice in this matter – I'm dying to know too (opps excuse the bad pun).

Auntiemeesh: Ouch! I don't want Merry to die!  
Pippin: Neither do I! Oh, now you have made me cry!  
Auntiemeesh: Although I do kinda like his spirit lingering to watch and find a way to say good-bye to Pippin.  
Merry: Well you can't get rid of me that easily.


	3. Counting The Cost

The East Gate  
Authors The Eastgaters  
_**Cast list**_  
Frodo – Baylor  
Samwise – Budgielover  
Pippin – Marigold  
Merry – Llinos  
Legolas – Mainframe  
Aragorn – Nilramiel  
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker  
Gimli – Q

Beta: Marigold  
Story Editor: Llinos

Chapter 3 Counting The Cost

Boromir looked back at the hobbit and the breath caught in his throat. Peregrin Took, youngest and most inexperienced of the Fellowship, stood grimly staring at the wall of rocks, still gripping two short swords so fiercely his knuckles strained against the skin. He looked again, hard, trying to recall the image of a carefree youngling, so recently laughing and joking, bolstering the spirits of the Company when he was not frustrating them with his tremendous energy and incessant questions. This bloodied and weary young warrior, standing exhausted before him, jolted Boromir to the core and made him angry beyond words.

For all that he had taken Peregrin and Meriadoc under his guidance, teaching them the ways of battle and swordsmanship, never had he seriously thought either hobbit would be tested as they had been this day. His tutelage was rather an exercise to pass the time and to give the lads something to do more than it was to prepare them for what had actually befallen them. He shook his head wearily. They had indeed taken their lessons to heart and proved themselves in battle. Yes, they'd learned their lessons well.

He'd seen the copious amounts of red blood, not orc blood, at the spot where Merry had fallen. He suspected Peregrin had noticed the blood also but he, Boromir, was not about to question the youngling on the subject of just how much blood a hobbit could lose and still live. But the young one grieved. Peregrin looked up from his position against the back wall with an expression that broke Boromir's heart. The man had seen this fatal expression on many a youth after a first battle. It was a serious time in any warrior's life. A false word, a misstep, could crack the fragile mask of indifference, sending the lad over the edge of sanity.

Yet despite Peregrin's grief for his fallen cousin, despite the hopelessness of their current situation, despite the grim ferocity and carnage of a battle, this...this warrior-child still held himself upright, looking determinedly to Boromir for guidance. Well then, guidance he would have, for Boromir could not bear to think that the exuberant youngling he had once known would be lost completely because of today's gruesome events. Though he knew with deep sadness that the young one was forever changed.

"Peregrin... Pippin. Come away from the wall lad. I'm going to see to our friend here lazing about in the rubble and I want you to look about this place and give me a report."

Pippin nodded once, just a jerk of his head really, and relaxed his stance, looking about him first from where he stood, getting his bearings, and leaving Boromir to the task of helping poor Gimli. He had been uncertain what he should do next, knowing that what he wanted to do most was crawl into a dark corner and cry himself to the point of insensibility and never wake up again, but that would help no one. He was so grateful that Boromir had given him a task, it would keep his mind from the others…from Merry and Gandalf especially, at least a bit longer.

-00000-

Sam continued to fuss over his master, finding comfort in the old, familiar patterns of scolding alternated with entreaties that he had always employed when Frodo was hurt or ill or merely out of sorts from too late a night studying or spending an evening at The Green Dragon with his cousins.

How he wished this were nothing more than an aching head from too many mugs of ale. An ale would go down a treat now, it would. Maybe if he and Frodo each drank about a score, they'd wake up and all this would have been just a nightmare. Sam had no ale to offer, but he reached for his waterskin, determined that his master would at least have some liquid.

"Mr Frodo, you drink this, now." Frodo took the waterskin from him but never looked up, his eyes still wide and glazed. "Master, take a drink. You're dry from all that fighting and running." Nothing. With a sigh, Sam sat himself down and tilted the waterskin to his master's lips, then took a drink himself.

Sam's eyes were drawn to the drama taking place several yards away. He almost couldn't see Mr Merry between the elf and Aragorn. But their bowed heads and hunched shoulders did not bode well as their hands moved quickly over his master's cousin. There was an awful lot of blood – an awful lot!

He should offer to help, he supposed. Build a fire and boil water, or such. And shouldn't somebody be watching the Gates? There were still orcs in there, maybe hundreds of them. But he was so tired. Now that he had space to breathe, the cut above his eye burned fiercely, and his arms and legs felt weighted with stone. He hadn't even sheathed his sword. With a grimace, Sam scrubbed the bloody blade on the ground, then wiped it with his cloak and returned the weapon to its scabbard.

Suddenly uneasy, he stood and looked around. They hadn't come very far from the Gates. What was going on inside there, he didn't want to think. Young Master Pip, just a lad. The others, too, of course, but to Sam's hobbit heart, it was thinking of young Pip that blurred his vision.

And Frodo – what must his master be feeling? This silence was unnerving. He should be weeping or swearing or, or – something. Not just sitting there, covered in filth, like all the light had gone out of the world.

If Frodo lost both his cousins… well, that just didn't bear thinking about. Gandalf, then Master Pip and Mr Merry. He'd never get over it. Sam knew his master well enough that he knew Frodo would go on, continue the Quest, because he had promised and because he had to. But if they ever did reach that fire mountain, he'd likely throw himself in after that evil thing he carried.

Sam couldn't do anything about that, but he could about the black blood that covered them both. Aragorn would call him if they needed a fire, or if there was anything Sam could do. Keeping a wary eye on the Gates, he clasped Frodo's shoulder and crouched down directly in his line of sight. "Sir, there's a little stream over there. I'm going to fill up our waterskins and see about getting us cleaned up." Frodo nodded but did not reply.

Sam filled the skins with the freezing cold water, flowing clean and swift over the shallow bed. Snow still lay in patches on the ground, feeding the stream with droplets of melting ice. After a moment's hesitation and a quick check on Frodo, Sam waded out into the stream and washed his feet and hands, tried to wipe the mask of blood off his face. The water beneath him turned pink and he watched as the rose-coloured rivulets were swiftly carried away.

Shivering, Sam sloshed out and filled his largest cooking pot with water. Returning to his master, he knelt and gathered up the cold hands he had been stroking. "I'm just going to clean you up a little, sir. The water's a mite cold, but you've got to get that filth off you." Frodo did not protest, allowing Sam to first wash his face and hands, and then carefully sponge away the blood that had saturated his clothes, turning the brown cloth black. The smell was sickening.

Feeling like he was washing one of his sister Marigold's dolls from all the response he received from Frodo, Sam tried to keep watch and also see what was happening with Mr Merry. The Big Folk were talking softly but he was too far away to hear. Looking at how gently Legolas cradled Mr Merry's head, Sam felt another stab of guilt. He had had to stay by Mr Frodo, but he regretted not having been able to save Merry. And Pippin.

Sam sighed deeply and spared a moment to rub at his eyes. Mr Merry though, he wasn't dead yet, and his master's family were stubborn if they were anything. Still, there was so much blood it was likely that the wound was a fatal one. Watching Aragorn bend over Merry's form, Sam feared that it might be so.

-00000-

Pippin began to walk about the chamber methodically, unconsciously rubbing the soles of his feet upon the stone floor as he walked to rid them of drying orc blood, his sharp eyes taking in every detail so that Boromir would know that he could be depended upon.

Merry had always been the wise and responsible one and had tried to teach Pippin to be responsible too, the way he had taught him so many other important things.

Wisdom, Merry had always said, was something that Pip possessed as much as he did himself, but that Pippin had just not grown into yet. Responsibility was another matter. That was something that was under Pip's own control and, although everyone had lapses in acting responsibly, there were times that a hobbit just could not afford to let that happen. This was one of those times, Pippin knew. What was he going to do without Merry to teach him about things?

For now he would just have to rely on Boromir and Gimli, since he had lost his Merry…No! Don't think about that. Be responsible. What would Boromir need to know…think about that, not Merry, not yet…Boromir hasn't said that we could stand down yet…

The source of the dim light was a single arrow slit high above them; that was important for fresh air, and to gauge the time, at least during the day, but much too small and high for any of them to squeeze through or use to send a signal.

He could see no other apparent exit. There was a large cupboard against the North wall and a broken pile of splintered wood, some of it still bound together showing that once it had been a ladder that one could climb to reach the narrow ledge directly beneath the arrow slit, a few recesses in the walls that had been shelves - or no, wait…perhaps they were meant as places to sit – too high for a hobbit but the right height for a dwarf to sit upon comfortably.

Pippin revised his way of thinking and, pretending he was Gimli's height, looked around again at the places he had already investigated to make sure he had missed nothing of importance by seeing things from a hobbit's perspective in this realm of dwarves.

Sure enough, in the South wall he found a niche above his head, too high for him to see into or reach comfortably, not that he wanted to feel around with one of his hands in any sort of dark space in this frightening place. Laying both swords down by the wall, he went to the ruined bits of the ladder, found one section with three rungs intact and dragged it over to the niche.

Climbing up carefully, uncertain if it would bear even his weight and not wanting to fall and possibly injure himself, which would be very inconvenient right now, he was rewarded with the discovery of several candles at the very back. They would need these candles when it got dark, especially if Gimli was injured, and Pippin was worried that the dwarf had not got to his feet immediately on his own, rocks weighing him down or no. It would be too risky to make a fire with any of the bits of the ladder as the smoke might creep through some crack or seam in the rock, the smell alerting the orcs to the fact that they still lived.

He stuck two of the candles down the front of his shirt should he need them and left the rest so that they would be easy to find after it became dark. Pippin was notorious as a lad for losing his box of vestas so Merry had always insisted he carry two, one in his pack, and one in the inner pocket of his cloak, so that he was never caught without, and he had kept the habit. He put the small box from his cloak pocket in the niche next to the candles where it would be handy. Merry was so very smart…had been so very smart…No! Don't even think such things… Pippin picked up the two swords and continued his search.

The large cabinet against the North wall had heavy doors that Pippin thought it best he let one of his bigger companions open, but above it he thought he could see a dark opening. He backed up, switched his own sword to his left hand along with Merry's for a moment, wiped his filthy finger on his cloak, gave it a lick, grimacing at the foul taste, and held it up. Yes! There was the faintest breath of air coming from above – a vent or air hole of some kind. So there were two sources of air into their prison.

One more corner to explore, partially hidden by a little heap of rubble that Pippin could see had been broken out of the wall long ago and never cleared away. He wondered with a shudder if it had happened when the orcs were slaughtering the dwarves that had tried to reclaim the Mines. Edging carefully around the pile, uncertain if, for all that it seemed so old a fall, that his movements might not bring down more rock, he found what might be the greatest discovery of all. Lid intact, there was an outline on the floor identical to the well that Pip had dropped his foolish stone into, years ago it seemed.

He knew he could not budge the lid, and did not bother trying, but the fact that the orcs seemed to actually use this room on occasion seemed to him to bode well. And next to it was a bucket with a rope attached for drawing up water! Pippin touched the bucket and it was dry but that meant nothing, as any moisture would have evaporated in the amount of time they had been fighting, and this room seemed little used anyway, but that the rope had not rotted away was surely a good sign the well was a true source of water. Finding the well reminded him how angry Gandalf had been when he had dropped his stone, and the horror Pippin had felt in the chamber where the orcs had first fallen upon them.

_It was his fault, all his fault!_ That had been his thought, but as he moved the hobbits into position behind him Gandalf had run a hand through his curls and reassured him that it was not so, almost as if he could read Pippin's mind. That it had just been a matter of time before they were set upon. Gandalf never lied, not even to spare someone's feelings, so Pippin felt no guilt that he may have been the cause of the attack. Thinking of Gandalf was nearly as bad as thinking of Merry, so Pippin pushed the thought away.

He stood for a moment in the centre of the room and gave a look around to make sure he had not missed anything of importance, then went over to where Gimli was trapped, Boromir still moving stones carefully, not wanting to cause another slide. Finally Pippin let himself sit down, heaving a sigh of relief. How long had it been since he had sat down…when they had broken their fast, many hours ago he realised.

Taking a corner of his shredded cloak and beginning to carefully clean his blade as Boromir had taught him a good soldier does as soon as possible after a battle, trying hard not to look at the gruesome gunk that covered every inch of its once gleaming surface, he began to tell his companions his finds, not leaving out even the tiniest detail. He hoped that he had done a good enough job, but trusted Boromir would tell him if he had not.

-00000-

Frodo was numb. He sat, unmoving, unable to move, seeing nothing, knowing only that his Sam was beside him, that Sam still lived and was talking gently to him, stroking his hand, but he could make no response. There was a welcome, cool taste of water trickling down his throat but where it came from Frodo had no real idea. Sam, his mind finally decided, hours later, or maybe seconds. He did not know and did not care.

All he did know was that people he loved had died for him and that knowledge was unbearable. How could he live with that? Gandalf. Merry. Pippin. He could not make himself look yet to see how many others. He heard a soft voice speaking to Sam and Sam responding, but still he could not look to see who this other voice was that had survived or look about him to face the truth of who else had fallen besides the ones he already knew that he had lost. The ones dearest to his heart, as if the evil that drove these monsters had known exactly who to take from his side, the dear ones that were the most beloved to him. He thanked the Valar that Sam had been spared, but he had a vague recollection of blood that was not orc blood pouring from a wound on Sam's head. He could lose him yet too. The thought brought him a bit nearer to reality – Sam might need his help.

But reality hurt too much and he could not seem to reach it. And Sam seemed to be gone now too, so perhaps he had just imagined that he had been there beside him and Sam was dead as well. No… he was back now, and Frodo felt a soothing cloth glide over his skin, washing away some of the evidence of the morning's nightmarish events, though it took away none of his pain. Frodo made no protest, and let Sam do what he would. It made no difference and caring for Frodo always brought his Sam comfort. Let Sam find what comfort he could.

He saw over and over the fall of Gandalf to the nightmare creature made of flames. He would never forget Merry's single, agonised scream, Frodo not even able to see where the lad had met his end, Pippin's cries of despair for the loss of the other half of his soul, and then making the choice to give up his desperate struggle to reach Merry in order to protect his eldest cousin, ultimately sacrificing himself to the hordes of orcs so that Frodo might escape and keep the Ring from falling into the hands of evil.

Merry was gone. His baby cousin was gone. Little Pippin could not have survived what Frodo had glimpsed happening as he ran like a coward leaving a child, one of his own kin, to die for him as Merry, just come into his young adulthood, had also died for him. Another unbearable image, this one imagined as he had not seen Merry fall, yet still replaying itself over and over in his mind. And the sound of Pip screaming as he himself ran from the chamber. So many horrific images and sounds, the despair and unbearable empty finality of death. All because of the Ring.

From the moment Frodo had taken the burden upon himself at the Council a part of him had felt a certainty that he would not return from this Quest or even come near to achieving his goal, though he refused to acknowledge the feeling was there. The positive outlook and cheerful spirit of his kind would simply not permit it. There was always hope. And his companions had done nothing and said nothing to dim this hope, for which Frodo was grateful, knowing if doubt gained too deep a stranglehold that there was no possibility of success.

He suspected that the Ring Itself was responsible for these dark thoughts he held at bay, hoping to cause him to succumb to despair, but his friends and companions had done their best to distract him, especially Pippin with his constant happy chatter and songs and boundless inquisitiveness, Merry his willing accomplice in all things, just as in the Shire. How could Frodo go on now, without them? Without Gandalf, friend, guide, advisor… A small part of his mind whispered he may as well concede defeat now, but that would mean that the valour that had allowed him to escape from the Mines was wasted and the rest of his mind refused to let that be so, and he struggled with all of his will to throw off his despair and return to the present to face what he must.

And as he struggled he became aware of voices, of cries of agony and distress …a familiar voice greatly altered by pain and confusion and a desperation…" Pip?… please… Frodo…?"

The voice was Merry's! Merry was here, by some miracle, and calling for him! The shock brought Frodo to complete reality and he suddenly registered the scene before him. Merry was on the ground, clearly in agony, and Legolas and Aragorn were kneeling beside him. Merry was alive! And Merry wanted Frodo. He had not lost them both, though Aragorn looked grim and Legolas was distressed, trying to be calm and attempting to quiet Merry's confused flailing. Merry needed him, was calling for him! In an instant Frodo was at his cousin's side, all thoughts of his own anguish forgotten, his concern turned completely to this beloved young cousin… horrified by what he saw, the blood, a dagger, Merry's face contorted in great pain. Frodo took one of his cousin's hands in his own and whispered soothingly, "Hush, lad, hush, my Merry, Frodo is here."

-00000-

Boromir was worried beyond what he would admit out loud, even if it were merely in an attempt to bait the normally humourless dwarf. Gimli, skilled fighter, reliable soldier, taciturn dwarf, had not pulled himself from the wreckage of the once seemingly indestructible arch. Something was seriously amiss. He followed Gimli's silent nod and looked more closely. There did not appear to be a tremendous amount of damage to the leg, though it was still trapped under some rubble. No blood, no obvious break. It was still there... The grim thought of a legless Gimli flitted across the man's mind.

Yes, they'd all three managed to escape irreparable physical harm – unlike Meriadoc. It seemed doubtful to Boromir the plucky and calculating youngster would have survived so much blood loss. Though no expert in the matter of hobbits, especially in blood loss, they _were_ small creatures; Boromir feared the effect of losing shrewd Meriadoc would have on the rest of the journey. Many a time he'd been impressed by the hobbit's common sense and voracious need for facts and details. Meriadoc had learned blade craft fast. Faster than anyone Boromir had ever taught. He proved a master at maps and had a natural understanding of the nuances of travelling in a large group while attempting to remain stealthy. He instinctively knew how to quiet down an overloud and rambunctious "tweenager". Yes, he would be sorely missed.

Boromir shook his head unconsciously as his focus came back to the present. He watched as Peregrin sat down and began cleaning the first of two swords. Mild surprise registered on Boromir's weary face. He'd not needed to instruct the young hobbit to take care of the weapons. He remembered his father's weapon master drilling it into his head that one's weapons were one's life. To neglect them was to invite disaster. He'd not spent the same inordinate amount of time on this lesson with the hobbits because he seriously never expected them to have the need. But obviously they'd listened and absorbed it.

Peregrin's methodical detailing of their prison amazed Boromir. The lad was normally so careless of many things, this recitation was a new side of the hobbit. He obviously had a sharp eye and a keen mind. Boromir relaxed a little as he listened to the intelligence and turned his attention to the taciturn dwarf.

Pippin paused in his report, looking with concern at the dwarf. "Are you all right Gimli? Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable until Boromir can free you?"

"Ah, lad, t'is enough to see you doing such fine work." As Boromir moved, another shower of small stones pattered down on them. Realising they may not have much time before the rest came down upon Gimli, he grasped the largest stone covering Gimli's leg and began to strain, thigh and shoulder muscles bunching visibly even under all the armour he wore, small beads of sweat popping out on his face, smearing the dust and dirt there.

"Pull Master Dwarf! Pull your leg from the cursed pile of rocks!" Boromir whispered fiercely with the strain and then grunted mightily as he heaved up again on the large boulder trapping the dwarf's leg. As much as he hated to admit it, he'd not be able to hold up the stone much longer.

The dwarf was obviously trying to move from beneath the rocks but hadn't managed even a smidgen. Then as Boromir shifted the weight of his load he saw Gimli grab the injured leg and give it a mighty tug. What must have been swearing erupted from the dwarf just as he fainted dead away. This would not do!

"Peregrin, quick now, lad! Lend a hand! Do what you can, I cannot hold this rock and our friend is in grave danger, still!"

-00000-

Merry felt a hand take his – a small hand – a hobbit's hand. Not Pippin though, even through the cacophony of pain he would know Pip's touch. Frodo's voice filtered through the whirlpool of agony that filled his every horizon, telling him to hush and urging him to be still.

Where were they now? Merry's dulled sensibilities told him they were no longer in the Mines, there was too much light. How had he got here? He couldn't remember. Another fierce jab of pain speared through him, threatening to black his mind and memory once more. He squeezed tightly on the hand in his – Frodo's hand.

But what had happened to Pip? Why was Frodo come to him? Had Pippin been left behind in the Mines? Why would they leave him behind? They must have thought him dead!

"Noooooooo! Frodo, no! Pippin! Not dead – he's not! Frodo, we have to get him!" The reality hit Merry foursquare and adrenaline raced through his veins, stirring his depleted blood and finding a sudden strength. "We have to get him, Frodo! Please, come on! I know Pip isn't dead – I'd have felt it if he'd died. P-please Strider, Frodo… Now!"

Merry began to writhe around in the gripping hands, desperate to get away, frantic to go back and search for Pippin. The agony of the wound increased, fighting for attention with the adrenaline rush caused by Merry's panicked grief.

Frodo thought his heart would break at Merry's anguish, his emotional distress clearly as agonising as the physical wound, and aggravating the pain of the stab wound. Frodo knew from the sad, grim look on Aragorn's face that there was little hope that this cousin would survive today's horror. He was going to lose them both after all. He felt that he would himself die of grief.

-00000-

TBC

Author's Notes

Hullo, Friends! Budgielover here. "The East Gate" has had almost 1900 hits on the first two chapters and the action is just getting rolling. Well … rolling, ducking, weaving, bobbing, bleeding, screaming- Um… I think you get the idea.

Questions and Answers and Plain "Hullo's" from Sam Gamgee, with comments and greetings from Mr Meriadoc Brandybuck and Mr Legolas

Melilothill: Well, that was rather stupid; leaving a review in Dutch… I was biting my nails during this chapter  
Sam: Not at all. Dutch sounds a lot like elvish. We are all glad you're enjoying the story. If'n you like, I've got some salve for those bitten-down nails. Mr Frodo says it tastes right good.

Hobbitsandkilts: You people are mean, leaving off when so many thing left an answered.  
Sam: We don't mean to be mean, truly. Well, most of us don't. Maybe one does. Or two. Three at the most. All right, you caught us.

Aralinde: More please  
Sam: Just as soon as we can. Marigold and Llinos did the initial edit, and Llinos (bless the lass's heart) is still beating the final chapters into obedience. Picture her wielding a whip and a chair, and that'd be fairly close.

Freya: bites fingernails Oh, the angst! Oh, I love it! I hope you feel better, Merry, and that your spirit meets with Pippin's again!  
Merry: Yes I did have to make a large sacrifice in terms of suffering and angst for this story – I hope everyone appreciates that! And I'll be keeping an eye for Pip – don't you worry!

Lindahoyland: I hope Aragorn can cure Merry.

Sam: We hope so, lass. The world just wouldn't be the same without that lad. Quieter, aye, and those of us with vegetable gardens might sleep easier, but Mr Frodo would be devastated. I think the rest of us would be, too.

Periantari: please let Merry not die =( =( )  
Merry: Yes I'd second that plea!

Celebrean: Really good. Poor Merry. Poor Pippin! And I don't know if it's because I've been reading too many mystery books layely, but I'm guessing that scratch Legolas has will turn into something more (never let anything go un noticed. Yes too many mystery books. I was bored though!)  
Legolas: Fear not sweet lady – 'tis but a scratch. Nice to know you noticed though – I thought everyone was worried about the hobbits and that Boromir! Hmph!

Finmall: The battle was fantastic! For some reason, most of all I liked Boromir in these first two chapters  
Sam: That battle was a lot more fun to read about than be in, let me tell you. Taught me a lot about Big Folk, though, and especially Mr Boromir. He's a hero right out of the old tales like Mr Bilbo used to tell, and no mistake.

Sabercrazy: Even if you can't see me I'll be somewhere in the shadows.  
Sam: Thanks for the encouragement, and for the warning. Might be a good idea if you let us know when you're lurking, though – Mr Frodo's a bit leery of shadows and he's mighty quick with Sting. Wouldn't want there to be an unfortunate accident.

Kelsey: (Ok, I'm worried about Legolas!) What of Pippin, Boromir, and Gimli? Will they get out?  
Sam: Sorry, I can't give you any spoilers, but (just between you and me and the wall) you won't be disappointed!  
Kelsey: Is this fic REALLY being written by a bunch of different people? It's impossible to tell if it is.  
Sam: We East Gate survivors assure you that the story is written by all o' us. That seamlessness is due to Marigold and Llinos' compilation and to Llinos' final edit.

Birch tree: Sometimes I find a bit too much action details… I liked the way you described the same event from all different points of view in the first chapter. Maybe this is normal for fiction adapted from roleplaying games  
Sam: You might like 'ta know that there were over 500 pages of the story when Marigold and Llinos tackled it, with many repetitions from multiple viewpoints. I don't see how they did it, myself. And without having to be locked up in a tower.

Boromir: Very good story please keep going!  
Sam: You sound just like our Mr Boromir! He's a Man of few words but he gets his meaning across!

Mangst: I can't wait to read more. You guys do great work together.  
Sam: We hobbits do, of course. It was a bit harder working with the Big People. They're a tad odd, if you take my meaning. I think it's all the distance the blood has to travel between their feet and their brains. The distance cools it down and turns them wonky.

Barb:): Aw, my poor Pippin! This is great, must have more!  
Merry: Poor Pippin indeed! What about me with a dagger in my heart – well close anyway!

Althea: This is marvellous. The action never stops. The characters are all well portrayed  
Sam: Looking back on all that happened, I don't see how we made it. It was a bad time, that, and worse to come. That first day seemed to last years. All that blood and smoke and darkness, and losing Mr Gandalf. I think it was almost the worst day of my life.

Lindelea: He dodged and parried, slashed and decapitated his way...  
Sam: You have 'ta understand, of course, that everything was happening so fast. It was us hobbits' first battle, and we were just trying to stay alive. Me and Mr Frodo, that is. After watching Mr Merry and Master Pippin make use of the training Mr Boromir gave them, I'm going to have to be more respectful towards those lads.

Neige: Have you any mercy? Injuring an innocent Hobbit?   
Sam: Now, Neige, don't you go getting upset. After knowing Mr Merry his whole life, almost, I can assure you that he has never been completely innocent. I'm thinking of publishing a little book on him and Master Pip to help finance my retirement, someday. It should bring in a fair amount of Shire coin.  
Merry: Over my dead body!

Elwyna: Wonderful as always, but very angsty, and I'm worried for Merry!  
Sam: We're all glad you are enjoying our tale, lass. I must ask you, though, not to express too much concern for Mr Merry. He's quite hard enough to live with as it is. If he thinks the lasses are all upset over him, he'll be impossible.

A Elbereth: I'm loving the suspense... and the grief and the gore. It all seems so real. I'm guessing because just one event was taken into such detail.  
Sam: I think you hit it right on the head there – 'hard to explain.' We do owe the consistency of writing style and readability to the amazing efforts of Marigold and Llinos, and to Llinos' final edit. As for the 'grief and gore' – well, I'm afraid all of us quite got into that. Heat o' the moment, you understand.

Shirebound: such courage, and such strength.  
Merry: Yes even without me being majorly magnificent they did quite well.

Auntiemeesh: I can see that Sam's gonna be in for a lot of work, with Frodo wonky and Merry badly wounded.   
Merry: Yes, if he ever gets through answering his fan mail and pays attention to poor dying me!

Chapter 4 will be arriving by Shire post shortly!


	4. Running Repairs

The East Gate  
Chapter 4 Running Repairs

Authors The Eastgaters

Cast list  
Frodo – Baylor  
Samwise – Budgielover  
Pippin – Marigold  
Merry – Llinos  
Legolas – Mainframe  
Aragorn – Nilramiel  
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker  
Gimli – Q

Beta Marigold  
Story Editor Llinos 

Frodo somehow collected himself, and looked quickly around the little group, noting those missing. Not just Gandalf and Pip then, he realised sadly. He risked a quick glance toward the Gates, while Merry thrashed, calling for his little cousin, insisting he lived still, Frodo hoping against hope that he would see Pippin, Boromir and Gimli running towards them but he knew that all who had got free were here now. He knew that Pippin would not be coming through those Gates. He felt yet another part of his own heart torn away, yet smiled down at Merry's pain-filled, distraught face comfortingly. "Don't fret, Merry-dear. Pip is with Boromir and Gimli. They will look after him."

Merry could feel his sudden burst of strength failing again. Try as he might, he could not force his body upright. He managed to lift his head for a moment, but he sank back down again almost immediately. It had been better when he was floating, for then the pain stopped and he could see what was happening.

Merry closed his eyes and tried to drift off again, but the insistent big people would not relent. Moving him, talking at him, patting his face trying to make him react. Why did they do that? He needed to go back to the floating world so he could see where Pippin was.

What had Frodo said? Pip was with someone? Boromir and Gimli? That wouldn't do. They didn't know what Pippin liked or what he needed. They wouldn't make sure he ate bread with his stew, and cut the crusts off for him. Nor would they tell him to brush his hair thoroughly on his head and his feet. They wouldn't know that he liked to have his left ear lobe rubbed as he fell asleep or remember to tell him not to use his sleeve to wipe his nose.

Merry rallied again, more bemused and delirious now, "Frodo, you d-don't un-understand, I-I have to look after Pip, he'll g-get lost or f-fall down or s-something. Now help me up – please."

Frodo did not know where he found the strength for this – one beloved cousin, just a child really, already dead, and another, equally beloved and not so much older, dying even as he clasped his hand trying to comfort him in some small way as he passed from this world to the next. He had held his dear Merry within an hour after his birth; that he was now helping to ease him into death was unbearable but bear it he must, somehow. He loved the lad so much, how could he do any less?

After this anguish carrying the Ring to Mount Doom would be as nothing. He didn't dare look up at any of the other survivors, or he knew he would break down completely from the sorrow and pity that they must surely have on their faces. They had come to love Merry, they had loved sweet Pippin too, and they knew how much both lads meant to Frodo. But they could not possibly comprehend what losing these two beloved kinsmen meant to him. They had not been there, watching the two grow and thrive, teaching and guiding them, forging a friendship over the years that had gone beyond that of blood kin. He loved them both so much, and that both had died to save him was agonizing.

He couldn't bear this, yet he must, for his dear Merry's sake. With or without the Ring this would have broken him beyond any recovery or redemption, but now he must try to find a way to withstand it.

"Merry-dear, Pip will be all right." Frodo could not believe how calm his voice sounded. "He is a brave, grown-up lad now, you know. You did such a good job helping Pippin grow up, Merry, that he will be fine with Boromir and Gimli until you can come to him again." Frodo did not know if Merry heard him, or if he did, whether or not he understood what Frodo was saying. He prayed that Merry did not understand the veiled meaning behind his words. "Be still, Merry sweeting, let Aragorn tend to your… injury… all right? You will see Pippin soon, love, and he will be happy and well, and so will you." The tears rolled down Frodo's cheeks at the true meaning behind his words and he prayed that Merry would not sense the bitter truth.

-00000-

At Boromir's words Pip dropped his blade and grabbed hold of the straps on Gimli's pack, deciding they offered him the best grip in the short space of time he had till Boromir was forced to drop the heavy rock, and pulled until he thought his arms would come out of their sockets. Gimli was heavy! Of course he had on all that chain mail, but even as he pulled Pippin couldn't help but be glad he wasn't trying to tug Boromir anywhere – if Gimli was any example, the much larger Boromir would have been beyond his limited strength, especially the way he was feeling right now.

Somehow he managed to pull the unconscious dwarf back a few feet so that Boromir could release the stone. It was all the little hobbit could do not to fall forward onto the dwarf in his extreme exhaustion, but he managed to keep his feet. If Gimli were badly injured his help might be needed again. He could do it, he thought to himself... just hold on a while longer. Pippin raised his weary head and looked down at the dwarf, anxious at his stillness, wondering how badly his friend had been hurt.

Boromir was tremendously relieved that the little one was able to pull the dwarf free of the rubble. He did not know how much longer he would have been able to hold up the boulder. He realised he, by himself, would not have been able to kick or push Gimli out of the way and was debating frantically just how to set the rock down with the minimal amount of damage to their unconscious companion when Peregrin managed to move the dwarf.

**_THUD!_** He let the rock settle with a little added "umphf" of his own and sat back on his heels to catch his breath. Now, he seriously ached! After three quick breaths he assessed the situation. What he saw did not bode well.

The dwarf lay still as stone and Pippin was clearly exhausted beyond his endurance. Just how much dare he push this youngling? He'd seen remarkable fortitude among all four of the little ones but they must have their limits.

He turned his attention to the unconscious dwarf and ran a critical eye over the prostrate form. Nothing terribly amiss on the outside... No seeping wounds, no bones poking through. But it was impossible to actually see much, given the amount of armour, clothing and hair!

Carefully Boromir removed Gimli's helm and began unfastening the waist belt and cross pieces. The tunic was easily opened but the chain mail posed a problem. How to get it up and off without hoisting the poor dwarf! Not an easy feat but more importantly, Boromir did not wish to cause any more damage with his rough handling. Better to assess as he may without any rough and tumble mail removal.

As the dwarf began to stir, Boromir's spirits rose a little. This was a good sign. Fainting from intense pain was not uncommon. But remaining unconscious was not a good thing.

-00000-

Sam could not bear to watch, to hear the gentle, deceptive words Frodo delivered in that oh-so-calm and reassuring voice. When Frodo glanced up from his cousin's face to look around at those of them who had escaped, Sam kept his face down, eyes averted. To meet Frodo's gaze would be to expose his master to all his own grief and sorrow and a steadily growing core of burning rage.

He did not follow as Frodo knelt by Mr Merry's side and clasped his hand, and spoke what comforting words he could to him. Only the sight of one other hobbit would help Merry now, and Sam knew that he was not the one. Where was all the miraculous healing magic of the elves that old Mr Bilbo had told him stories of? Surely Aragorn, with all his training and experience as a healer, could be doing something useful?

Sam's whole existence had been built on "doing something useful." While his master and the Big Folk concentrated on Merry, Sam quietly gathered all their waterskins and filled them from the nearby stream, returning them quietly without their owners' notice. He checked his and Frodo's packs, ensuring that nothing had come loose, tying down his pans again. There was a great slash across the back of his pack that must have come from a sword. Good thing it hadn't taken a pan off. He'd sew it up when they got to Lothlórien – if they got to Lothlórien.

That done, he looked about for something else to do. But there didn't seem to be anything else he could turn his hand to. Sam sat down a little back from the others, where he could keep an eye on the Gates and put his head in his hands, fighting against despair. From here, he could catch Merry's words, increasingly confused and discordant, and be at hand should anyone need his services.

-00000-

While Boromir examined Gimli for injuries Pippin sat quietly waiting, letting the man concentrate. Pippin doubted that Boromir knew any more about dwarves than he did himself, but he certainly knew more about how to treat injuries in general so the best thing he could do was be quiet and stay out of Boromir's way.

Concerned for his friend Pippin looked down into the lax face. At least Gimli was not feeling any pain while he was unconscious but Pippin wished he would wake up for a moment at least, so that they knew if he was all right.

He tried a technique that he had often used with great success on Merry when the older lad had warned him at bedtime that Pippin was not to bother him next morning before Merry was good and ready and had managed to wake up by himself, thank you very much. A technique that wasn't blatantly obvious in that it didn't involve shaking, or excessive noise, or launching himself bodily, full upon his sleeping cousin, or tickling, or droplets of water, or standing on an overturned washtub outside the open window of Merry's bedroom pelting him with tiny pebbles, or wafting the aroma of hot, buttered crumpets under his nose, although Merry usually didn't mind that, or most especially poking, which always made Merry quite cross.

Pippin simply stared intently at Gimli, as he had at Merry so many times, willing him with all of his might to wake up, now, please.

It didn't work.

Worst of all he was thinking of Merry again, of mornings without count when Pippin had delighted in being the first of them to wake so that he could tease his older cousin out of bed to enjoy the day with him. Mornings that would not come again, ever. This time the realisation and the memories were too much for Pippin to bear and he felt his eyes overflow with tears, and a few slipped down his cheeks before he managed to stop himself. He just couldn't help it.

He wiped the tears from his cheeks as surreptitiously as he could. "Sorry Boromir, I didn't mean to cry, I was just thinking about Merry. I used to try to wake him up this way. He called it my 'thinking him awake trick' but it doesn't seem to be working on poor Gimli."

Ashamed of his lapse Pippin looked away from Boromir and back down at Gimli. He had seen the dwarf without his helm on numerous occasions on their journey, but the occasions had all been brief. Though Pippin didn't know how Gimli could possibly be comfortable enough to so much as doze wearing such a heavy, cumbersome thing, he had never failed to drop into a deep, contented sleep when the Fellowship made camp, helm and all.

The hobbit thought that it was most likely something that dwarf lads and maybe lasses were taught to do at a young age, along with the proper way to braid a beard, and work a forge, much like small hobbit lads and lasses were taught to cook simple things, and recognise edible mushrooms, and keep their foot hair neatly groomed.

Or maybe he just seldom took it off because of that one time Pippin had decided that it would be quite handy for fetching water in for dousing the fire. It was just too bad that Gimli had put the helm back on before Pippin had actually got round to dousing the fire. Actually, remembering how swiftly Gimli had come after him despite the weight of his chain mail made Pippin reflect that the dwarf probably did not find the helm to be any sort of encumbrance at all.

Gimli without his helm and unconscious was not nearly as intimidating as Gimli with his helm and awake, and Pippin reached over and gently brushed some unruly wisps of hair out of his friend's eyes.

"Poor Gimli," Pip said softly, and continued to stroke his hair with great gentleness, careful not to cause his companion any discomfort, watching for any sign that he might be returning to them.

-00000-

"No, Frodo, I can't hide here any longer," Merry was saying as he grasped Frodo's hand tightly. "They'll find us and Pip will get caught. You know he can't play tig-tag-tog very well when he has to be 'it'."

Merry saw that Frodo was listening to him, but was not attempting to help him up. It was strange because usually Frodo would be the first to stand up for him or Pippin when they got into trouble, especially when it had actually been their fault.

But this time it was merely a game – just playing. Only Pippin, because he always insisted on playing with the older lads, tended to get picked on. He would hold his own, but very often ended up in a scrap usually with a bloody nose.

Merry and Frodo tried to prevent such outcomes without their youngest cousin knowing, but whenever they played tig-tag-tog Pippin would get caught, because he would hide with his bottom sticking up in the air, and then when he was 'it', the last player would get home safe and tog out all his tigs. Pippin would claim unfairness and it usually ended up in a fight – which Pip inevitably lost as his opponent was usually much bigger and stronger.

"I have to go and get tigged or at least try to tog out Pip so he isn't… Merry trailed off. What was he talking about? What was Frodo saying? Something about an injury!

"What injury, Frodo?" Merry struggled briefly, much weaker now. As the delirium faded out again, Merry was shocked back into the present reality and the pain stabbed through him once more. "Frodo – help me please. You ha-have to find Pip… I can't get up… I think I'm dying."

Merry could see now the tears splashing down Frodo's cheeks and he knew he was crying too. "Are you going to bury me now?"

-00000-

Gimli woke, wondering why a man and a hobbit were peering down at him, until he realised where he was. "My leg," he whispered, and began to sit up. Pippin pushed at him till he was seated, and all three stared at his leg. "I am not certain but I fear it is injured." A tinge of trepidation crept into Gimli's voice. He loathed admitting it but he suspected the leg broken. Given his experience with his own self and the knowledge many, many years of tending similar injuries gave him, he was positive his leg had sustained more than a bruise.

"T'is broken possibly," Boromir offered, knowing full well, _something_ was amiss but attempting to spare the dwarf any pandering and Pippin looked from one to the other in concern.

"No, really? How did you know?" Gimli pulled out his smallest knife and reached forward to slit his trouser leg. The effort caused his breath to hitch and he hesitated.

"Let me," Boromir said gruffly, and took the knife from the dwarf's hand. He gingerly pulled the garment from the top of the boot and neatly slit it from hem to hip. One raised eyebrow was all anyone saw in his admiration of Gimli's exceptionally sharp knife.

Peeling back the material revealed nothing untoward. He sighed a quiet groan of thanks that no bones protruded. Perhaps it was just bruised after all. Boromir did not relish the idea of hefting the dwarf any great distance. What he truly fancied was a good long drink of cool water, a hot bath, some decent food and a bed. Any bed. He wasn't choosy.

Gimli was also relieved to find that it appeared to be a clean break, for a break he knew in his heart it was. But a broken leg of any kind meant probable disaster for his companions for they would never leave him and escape on their own. He tried to cover his dismay with gruffness. "You didn't need to slit my breeks so high! Now you've ruined them," he fussed at Boromir.

-00000-

Aragorn was relieved when Frodo had come over to take Merry's hand. He had been torn between seeing how the Ring-bearer was faring and devoting all his attention to the dying hobbit in his hands. But Meriadoc still lived and was in terrible agony, he could not just abandon him to painful death without trying to save him.

Merry was obviously delirious and, as he had stripped away his clothing to examine the wound more closely, the hobbit had fought frantically with his ebbing strength. Now that Frodo had come to him, he at least was distracting what little attention Merry had away from the Ranger's desperate ministrations.

Aragorn called for clean water and cloth and almost instantly, Samwise appeared and provided both. The man bathed away blood from around the wound with water from one of the skins and realised at once that the jagged dagger was still embedded in the hobbit's chest, so close to his heart that any hopes for his survival were dashed again.

The Ranger pondered for a moment, resting his hand on the hobbit's fevered brow. In one day they had lost Gandalf and then, under his leadership, they had lost Boromir, Gimli and Peregrin. In addition, Legolas and Merry were both wounded, with Merry unlikely to live.

Now he was faced with a terrible decision for the poor little hobbit, crying and writhing under his touch. Should he remove the dagger in the hope that Merry could be saved or should he leave it alone and let the little one die in peace?

Aragorn sighed and examined the wound more closely, running his finger along the edge of the protruding part of the blade. It was notched upwards, designed so that if the victim were still alive, when it was pulled out it would most likely kill them, causing the maximum amount of agony in the process. But if he left the blade where it was, Merry would certainly be dead within the hour.

Perhaps if he could dull the pain a little it might be possible to remove the dagger without causing Merry any more trauma than necessary. Aragorn looked around for his pack, which he had thrown down in his haste to tend to the hobbit. He knew it contained a precious few leaves of _athelas_. It was then that he noticed a bluish-purple moss growing among the rocks. "_Glaslichen_!" he exclaimed, pleased to have encountered one piece of fortune in this dreadful day. The moss had excellent properties and he could use it to dull Merry's pain, if he could manage to force a quantity of the magical plant into the delirious little one's system. He would need to get him to swallow some, which would probably be best mulched up with water.

Aragorn glanced up at Legolas, who was still cradling Merry's head, trying to calm him with force now that words had failed. The elf held his arms still and stopped his head from thrashing from side to side. Frodo was holding Merry's hand and talking to him, trying to reassure him that Pippin was safe, even though they all knew it was a lie.

Aragorn shuddered at the thought of what might have befallen the littlest hobbit. At least Merry was an adult – for all he was young and inexperienced, he was still a grown-up, presumably acquainted with death and hardship, at least as much as any halfling was. But Pippin was so young, not just in years, but in his childlike happiness and naïve approach to everything. The thought of that little one dying in pain, hurt and frightened, was too much to bear.

Aragorn forced the thought away and turned his attention back to the suffering of the little one before him now. He could not leave Merry's side as he was staunching the blood flow with a cloth placed strategically around the dagger and pressed into the wound. It was as though he was holding the precious life in place with just his bare hand at that moment – he could not let go.

Legolas and Frodo were occupied with Merry also. Aragorn looked around and saw the solution sitting on the rocks with his head in his hands. "Samwise!" he called urgently. "I have a very important job for you." Without waiting for the gardener to respond, the Ranger issued urgent orders. "Gather up enough of this blue moss – it's called _glaslichen_ in the high tongue – to fill one of your cooking pots. Then mulch it down to make a good infused liquid. Come on, Sam – quick as you can. Merry's life depends on you."

-00000-

A broken leg would make it difficult for them to escape, if escape were even possible, but, Pippin supposed, it could have been worse. At least though if Gimli did have a broken leg it was an injury he could help with. Without distracting the others he got to his feet and trotted across the chamber.

He reached his destination and began to search for what he needed, once again thanking Merry for having taught him yet another useful lesson.

It had been the summer that Merry had turned twenty-two, and Pippin had of course been at Brandy Hall for the festivities, and was staying till harvest as he usually did. A few days after the party Uncle Saradoc had asked Merry to gather a lad or three, and clean up the property at Crickhollow. The thunderstorms that Spring had been the talk of the Shire and there had been a few leaks in the roof of the house and some other slight damage that needed repairing before it became any worse.

Of course Pippin had volunteered and Merry had recruited Berilac and Robin as well, and the four lads rode their ponies out to the pretty little place, bringing plenty of provisions along, thinking they might be a few days. There hadn't really been much wrong though, and Merry soon had them sorted out, each lad with a list of chores.

"Berilac, you check the inside for any water damage to the floor, and any cracked windows, or warped window and door frames."

"Pippin, please clean up the leaves and other debris outside. If there is a branch or something that is too heavy for you be sure to wait till one of us older lads can help you." He fixed Pippin with a look that told the youngster that he meant it, and Pip nodded in acceptance. He had no desire to get himself hurt with the true Summer just begun.

"And Robin, since you have such a good head for heights, will you check the roof with me?"

The lads all agreed to their assignments and split up. Several hours later Pippin had moved what he felt was half the Old Forest to a pile near the tool shed, and was just getting ready to draw a bucket of water from the well so that they could all have a cool drink when he suddenly heard Robin scream and Merry shout in alarm. Dropping the bucket with a gasp he raced around the side of the house and reached Robin just as Berilac did.

Robin was lying white-faced on the ground, flat on his back, and Merry was nearly sliding down the ladder in his haste to get to his cousin.

"Merry, what happened!" Berilac panted, out of breath.

Merry had fallen to his knees beside Robin, and was examining him carefully, making soothing noises to calm the injured teenager. "We had just finished the last of the patching and were coming down for a bite to eat. Robin must have slipped on the ladder. Is that what happened, lad?" he asked the youngster who was trying not to cry. Pippin was very scared and he could tell Robin and Beri were too, but Merry's calm, even voice had a soothing effect on all of them, including their injured cousin.

"Yeees..my foot slipped. One minute I was on th-the l-ladder and the next minute I was down here... Merry, my leg really hurts!"

Beri hovered in concern and Pippin crouched down and took Robin's hand while Merry examined the leg in question. "That's what you get for trying to get to the food faster than anyone else," Pippin joked, in what he hoped was a reasonable imitation of Merry's calming voice. Robin managed a little grin.

"Well, I had to get to it before you d-did, or there'd be nothing left…owww!"

Merry brushed the curls out of Robin's eyes. "Sorry Robin, I couldn't help it hurting a bit. I'm afraid your leg is broken. It isn't bad though, so just try to lie still while we patch you up, all right?" Robin nodded and Merry turned to the other two.

"Beri, take your pony and run to Mr Coltsfoot's farm, as it's closest. Send him back here with his pony and waggon – help him with the harness as you know he has bad joint ache in his fingers. Then you ride on back to the Hall so that they can have a healer ready for our Robin-lad the minute we get back."

Berilac nodded and ran for the stable.

"What shall I do Merry?" Pip squeezed Robin's hand comfortingly and looked up at his other cousin.

Merry was taking off his shirt and beginning to tear it into strips.

"You run and find me two sturdy sticks, Pip, both about the length of Robin's leg. Then we'll splint it so that he's more comfortable for the ride back home."

Pippin had done as Merry asked, running to the pile of debris and finding several pieces of wood that he thought might be what Merry wanted, and fetched them back to his cousins. Merry chose two pieces the correct length and began to splint the leg, Pippin alternately holding Robin's hand or helping Merry to tie the knotted material around the leg and splints. Then he had left Robin in Merry's capable hands and run back into the little house and collected up several thick quilts and pillows for his poor cousin to lie upon during the bumpy waggon ride, and next fetched his and Merry's and Robin's ponies.

As soon as Mr Coltsfoot had arrived and they had got Robin situated, he and Merry had hurried to the ponies to follow the waggon, but before they mounted Merry had turned to him and said, "You were a big help to me today, Pip. I'm really proud of you. Thank you." Pippin puffed up a bit at the words of praise and Merry had given Pippin a big hug.

Pippin had been surprised that Merry was shaking. "Are you all right, Merry?"

"Just scared to death that's all." That had not been the answer that Pippin had expected and he said as much.

Merry had laughed. "I was very scared. But my Da say's that you can't let being scared stop you from doing what you need to do. Always remember that Pippin, cause you know my Da is always right."

And because Pippin knew Merry was always right as well, it was a lesson he had tried hard never to forget.

"And you can't let being very sad stop you from doing what you need to do either, right Merry?" Pippin whispered to himself now, searching through the scraps of wood that used to be a ladder. Finding several pieces that looked to be about right Pippin turned and hurried back to Boromir and Gimli.

-00000-

Samwise levitated to his feet seemingly without any intermediate motion, obeying Aragorn's words before they registered in his conscious mind. His strong, nimble hands were gathering up the moss and laying it carefully in his largest stew pot, sharp grey eyes seeking out the next patch while he harvested the one before him. The bluish-purple plant felt strange in his hands, almost oily, and he could have sworn that the tiny tendrils curled briefly around his fingers as he whispered apologies to them for uprooting them, citing desperate need.

"It's for Mr Merry," Sam explained, not caring if the others thought him odd for talking to plants. He'd always done that, telling them what he was doing and why, and he believed in his heart that they understood, or at least understood his intent. He welcomed the seedlings when he put them in the ground and coached them during growing and sorrowed over their harvesting, explaining to them how they would go to nourish other lives, and they had his thanks for it. "He's hurt awful bad, and Aragorn – he's that big man over there – says you can help. You will, won't you? Mr Merry is a good sort, a good hobbit, and he don't deserve to die. He's my master's cousin, you know, and it would just kill Mr Frodo if he died. Please…" Sam babbled on, scarcely aware of what he was saying, knowing only that there was comfort for himself in the soft-voiced words, whether the _glaslichen_ heard him or not.

Despite the speed with which he worked, he placed the layers of moss into his cooking pot gently, smoothing the layers and being certain that they were not crimped. The strange moss was not plentiful but he found it easily, knowing by instinct that it would seek higher points on the barren ground, where it could reach for the sun but still find water in the stony cracks. In moments the stew pot was almost full, and Sam picked up a good-sized rock, wiped it against his jacket and began to crush the spongy growth.

The tendrils spurted small amounts of liquid, seeming to give up its fluid easily, the moss disintegrating into a stew pot of bluish liquid that resembled nothing so much as elderberry juice diluted with water. An odd sweet smell rose from it, making Sam feel strangely light-headed as he crouched over the pot, mulching frantically. The stone ground against the bottom of the pot with a painful scraping sound and he hastily adjusted his hold and changed the angle.

Another couple of grinds and he could no longer feel gentle resistance. Peering into the stew pot, he saw that the moss was fully infused. Wrapping his arms around it carefully, Sam rose and carried it over to Aragorn, settling it carefully by the Ranger's side. "Here it is, sir. Is there aught else I can do?"

"Thank you Sam, and yes, there is more you can do. First, bring me all the clean cloth you have in your pack, and a small cup or ladle. Then, I need you to hold Merry's legs as still as you can. Sit on them if you must, but he needs to be as still as possible." Aragorn looked up into Legolas' grim face. The elf nodded slightly, tightening his grip on Merry's shoulders. He knew what his friend was about to attempt – both the importance and the risk.

-00000-

Boromir had a hard time hiding his smile. He was beginning to understand why the elf enjoyed baiting the dwarf so much.

"Be glad I didn't slip and ruin something a bit further up..."

Gimli flushed at the man's off-colour and totally inappropriate remark. A dwarf could be quite touchy about certain topics and Boromir had managed to find one of the touchiest.

"Watch that kind of unseemly talk! The lad might hear..." he managed to sputter, hoping that his using Peregrin as an excuse would explain his embarrassment, though in truth he half expected to hear a snicker come from the youngest member of the Fellowship.

Boromir started to examine the dwarf's leg in earnest. Though he did not turn his head from his task, he heard Peregrin going about some self-appointed task on the other side of the chamber. That was good, sometimes his jesting words could be considered inappropriate for young ears. Soldiers' banter could be crude. Meaningless words of reassurance did nothing to help an injured, seasoned warrior, while rude quips often relieved tension at times like this.

He worked hard to keep the grin off his face. Dwarf baiting _was_ enjoyable. He made a mental note to discuss this with the elf should they ever have the opportunity. Though for the sake of decorum he'd not lay into Gimli as he would one of his own men as he did not yet know to what extent he could push the injured dwarf. He glanced to where the unsheathed battle-axe lay in case he seriously miscalculated Gimli's sense of humour. It lay just out of reach.

"The 'lad' seems to have had the wisdom to move out of the way. Which, had I known the outcome of your handiwork, I would have suggested of you as well. Though the damage of a few indecorous words on the ears of an innocent do not compare at all to that inflicted by the several ton of rock upon your leg. What possessed you Master Dwarf?" Boromir's wicked sense of humour was battling to come to the fore as he contemplated just how to punctuate his examination with jibes that would not offend but instead would relieve some of the tension the obviously embarrassed dwarf was experiencing at having another soldier offer assistance.

Carefully he ran his hands over the solid muscle of a leg nearly as large as his own. Were these creatures made of the iron they mongered? Given the difference in their height, Boromir was impressed. The dwarf just might outweigh him, especially with the full complement of armour. He'd just about determined the location of the suspected break and prodded a bit more below where he thought the fracture was.

"Do Dwarven men court their women as successfully as they court disaster?" His last comment, he realised, came a bit too close to offence. Dwarves may not have as great a penchant for sarcasm as his own troops especially in the area of the fairer sex – if he could ever consider any dwarf, even a female... fair. He suppressed a snicker. He carefully but firmly grasped the dwarf's leg with both hands and gave it a slow press where he thought the break might be, watching for a telltale wince, probably the only clue the dwarf would give him.

"Stop your poking and prodding!" He batted at the man's hands, certain that Boromir had found the location of the break and anxious to get him to stop his examination of the area before Gimli embarrassed himself any further than he already had today by howling in pain. Bringing a stone wall down upon himself in his hurry, breaking his leg which would further hinder his companions, fainting from the pain... he would not add to these foolish mistakes and weaknesses by giving voice to the cry of agony that was ready to burst from his throat.

"Stop it I say! You have found the source of my… discomfort... now leave it alone! I can handle things myself and don't need your misplaced maternal fondling. Look after one who needs a sharp eye on him. Where has Peregrin got to?"

"He probably was hoping to get out of earshot of your whining," Boromir had about finished with handling the dwarf delicately both literally and figuratively. "Now, if you don't mind, be still. If I act as a mother, it's because you act as a child! You and this leg will need some care."

_'Oh, really! Do you think so? Brilliant assessment!'_ Gimli fumed albeit silently, forcing his temper back. Eventually he managed to speak in what he hope was a civil enough tone," I'm quite capable of taking care of myself."

"If that were true why would you be sitting in a pile of rubble?" Boromir quirked his mouth to the side as he baited the dwarf.

The leg was broken, beyond doubt. This was an appalling situation, much worse than he'd originally thought. An unseasoned youngling, an injured dwarf who would not accept assistance, several tons of rock blocking their exit, with a horde of orcs on the other side waiting for them. Boromir smiled his mouth in a firm straight line. "Don't worry, it'll be fine!"

-00000-

Merry knew he was dying and he was filled with grief at the prospect. This was a bad and sad place to die. He had been of no use to anyone and now Pippin was lost and Frodo would be abandoned by all his kin. Merry felt the tears wring from his heart at how pointless and futile his inclusion in the Fellowship had been. And he had done wrong the one thing that Boromir had impressed upon Pippin and him over and over – 'Don't let go of your sword!' He hadn't meant to lose it but the troll had thrown him and suddenly the sword was gone.

Frodo's voice still hummed comfortingly above him. At least he would not die alone, although Merry could no longer make out what his cousin was saying to him. For a second he wished that Pippin were here too, just to say goodbye – to kiss his brow and bid him safe journey. But then he knew that he was glad his little cousin was not witnessing his death. He imagined how he would feel, watching Pippin die and he remembered the times when he thought he was. The pain had been unbearable, as if his very soul had been ripped in two. No, he would not wish that heartbreak upon Pippin. Let him mourn in his own time, after he was dead and his remains probably burned and the ashes scattered to the winds.

Maybe Pippin would even visit this spot sometime, perhaps kneel and say a few words for him in remembrance – that would be enough. Even the thought of it hurt Merry as he lay there, seeing into the future, seeing Pippin utterly bereft at his loss – just he would have been to lose Pippin. He saw him stumblingly trying to relate to his parents what had happened, his mother's inconsolable deep pain and his father's stunned disbelief at the loss of their only son. Merry managed to stutter to Frodo as this sad vision crossed his muddled thoughts, "T-tell Mum an'… an' D-dad I'm s-s-sorry. T-tell them I-I love them, Frodo."

Merry concentrated on each breath, trying to last as long as he could so as to savour memories and happy images of his friends. But it was hard to hold on to any coherent thoughts any longer.

Then suddenly a foul taste was in his mouth and he choked and spluttered as a disgusting liquid was poured down his dry, clenched throat. Merry fought the drink, but his strength was almost at an end and he was forced to swallow as more and more of the horrid-tasting brew was tipped into his mouth.

Why was someone torturing him like this? Why could he not be allowed to die with grace and dignity? But gradually, as the narcotic reached his system, Merry felt his struggles growing weaker as his mind faded to blackness. The tearing pain in his side diminished and he felt his soul leaving his body and floating upwards once more.

He reached out his hand, flailing into the blackness that now surrounded him, his heart filled with fear as a great shadow engulfed him. But then someone grasped his hand, pulled him through the dark and enfolded him against a warm comforting breast. Merry looked up in wonder and gave a small gasp of awe. "Grandmamma Gilda! I'm sorry I died, I didn't mean to."

"Be at peace, my love," Menegilda soothed her dear little Merry. "Don't you fret, you stay by Granny now and she'll keep you safe."

-00000-

Sam did as Aragorn bid him, kneeling down by Merry's side and grasping his legs, leaning his weight over the limbs even as Merry fell still and quiet after Aragorn forced the _glaslichen_ down his throat. Merry's legs felt cold, oddly soft, as if the mortal clay that comprised them was already disintegrating. When Aragorn put his hands on the knife, Sam closed his eyes for a moment and turned his face away. The elvish words the Ranger spoke as he gripped the knife calmed his racing heart, but to Sam, they seemed to affect Mr Merry the more, sending him into an unconscious state so deep that it resembled death. Sam dared not look at Frodo, did not think he could endure the pain he knew was etched on that pale face. Instead, he kept his eyes on his hands as they grasped Mr Merry's legs, white-knuckled and sweating.

Suddenly fearful as he felt the last resistance leave Mr Merry's muscles under the combined effect of the _glaslichen_ moss and the elvish words, Sam looked up unwillingly, his gaze captured and held by the man's great hands as they moved delicately over Merry's body. There was more blood when the knife was slowly withdrawn – _how could there possibly be more_. Not known for having a weak stomach, Sam nevertheless felt oddly unfocused, and had to remind himself to ease up his grip or he well might break a bone. His effort seemed unnecessary; beneath his hands, Merry never moved.

He didn't want to watch the blade emerge from the labouring chest, inch by bloody inch, so he stared at the ground. Totally focused on collecting the _glaslichen_, he saw for the first time that it was not the only growing thing in this barren place. A tiny white flower bloomed here and there, no larger than his smallest fingernail, five petals, and a tiny centre of scarlet. Sam had never seen its like. Right odd to find something beautiful that dared to bloom in the shadow of darkness. Blinking hard, Sam looked back up to see what was happening with Merry, and found Aragorn pressing a poultice of moss over the wound. Legolas responded to some silent request of the man's, raising Merry slightly as Aragorn fixed strips of cloth around the hobbit's chest to secure the dressing.

"I fear this little one needs more help than I can give," Aragorn said gravely as he bound the bandages. "Lothlórien is not so far distant. Legolas, if you are not too injured to travel, I would have you run with him for the Golden Wood, as fast as you may. We will follow as we can." He gestured to Frodo and Sam. "These two are also hurt."

Legolas only hesitated a moment, to look at Aragorn and receive a confirming nod that this was the best course of action. Then he stood, gathering Merry into his arms. Frodo rose to his feet with him, still clutching Merry's limp hand.

Frodo blinked back tears, struggling to compose himself. "Do you hear that, Merry-lad?" he said softly, though he knew his cousin was beyond hearing. "You just go on ahead with Legolas, and we'll catch up with you later. They'll have you right as rain before we old slowcoaches manage to join you, I'm sure."

"Sir?" Sam interrupted, and Frodo turned his head before realizing that Sam was addressing Aragorn and not him. "You ought to take Mr Frodo and go with Legolas," the gardener said. "He's the Ring-bearer – you shouldn't leave him here when there might be more o' them beasts coming out. I can trail you fair enough. You should take him and go."

Aragorn laid his hand on the stout hobbit's shoulder.

"Samwise, you are brave, and your concern for your master is valid, but if Merry does not gain help within a matter of hours, I do not think he will live."

He raised his other palm before Sam could protest. "Since we have left the Mines, I have seen Frodo walk on his own two legs, speak, weep, sit up, and drink water. I have no doubt that he is hurt, but not unto death, I think." The Ranger's tone softened. "And you also are injured, Master Samwise. I will tend to you both now, then we will follow Legolas as fast as we may."

Sam looked at the man with reluctant, guilty, fretful eyes, but he nodded, and Aragorn squeezed his shoulder. He straightened, then paused, lifting his eyes beyond Sam to the mountain. And what of the other three? Should he venture back to the Gate in the hopes of helping Boromir, Gimli, and Pippin, when the Ring and its Bearer were vulnerable?

He sighed. This leadership had been thrust upon him unready. How he longed for Gandalf – his power, his wisdom – but most of all, his quiet faith.

"Oh Gandalf, my old friend," he sighed inaudibly, "how shall we go on without you?"

He looked again at Sam, and then to Frodo, still clutching his cousin's hand. Even as Aragorn watched, Frodo placed a kiss to the small palm before letting it go, whispering, "I shall see you soon, my Merry-lad."

Aragorn nodded to the elf. "Go, _mellon_, and do not stop for nightfall."

"_Namarie_," Legolas whispered as his eyes swept the remainder of the Fellowship before turning and speeding light-footed across the rocky terrain.

His cloak billowed out behind him, and his hair whipped at his face as he clutched his precious charge close and sped towards the distant forest's edge, glad to be leaving the peril of the Mines and the open lands for the lush green, welcoming cover of the forest.

"Elbereth! Guide me, I must not fail!" his heart cried in a silent plea as he left the Gates far behind.

-00000-

TBC

Author's Notes

Hope you're all enjoying the tale so far, thanks a lot for all the reviews, they are cherished and valued.

If you would like extras to this story there is an extended version running under the same author name of Eastgaters, entitled "Behind the Scenes at The East Gate". This is the Director's Cut and contains off-camera correspondence between the characters in this adventure. These will be updated at about the same rate as the main story, until we run out.  
Llinos

Merry and Pippin are again fielding your comments (oh and one from Gimli):-

Shirebound: I feel obligated to tell you that I'm VERY WORRIED about Merry.  
Merry: Glad you feel your obligations strongly – do you think you could get me a doctor – a real one – I'm dying here!

Anso the Hobbit - Pippin is so brave and valiant…  
Pippin – Yes, I am rather. It's in my bloodline, though I have rather surprised myself.

pipinheart: I feel so bad for Merry, he thinks Pip is lost and Pip thinks Merry is...  
Merry: Go on – say it! He thinks I'm dead doesn't he?

pipinheart: Really good!!  
Merry: No it's really bad! Oh – I see what you mean, sorry.

Elijahs-gurl - Well, I don't know what else to say, so I'll just stop talking.   
Pippin – That never stops me!  
Elijahs-gurl - I've never seen anything this dark before…  
Pippin – Neither have I! This place is very dark without Gandalf's magnic rock!

Isil: Thank you for sharing this.  
Merry: We're always happy to share our stories with appreciative readers – food no! Stories fine!

pipspebble: Argh! You people are so very mean to keep leaving us in the lurch this way.   
Merry: Try it with a dagger in your chest!   
pipspebble: please, please HURRY!  
Merry: My sentiments exacterly!

barb:): - Tell Pippin how fabulous he is for me!  
Pippin – Perhaps you'd like to tell me yourself? I know a little bistro in Lothlorien where we could get to know one another better…Ack! Merry! I was just going to talk to her, I wasn't going to try anything!

TTTurtle - I am assuming there will be more than enough suspense for Gimli, Boromir and Pippin as they still have to figure out how to get out of the mines!  
Pippin – There is certainly more than enough for me! I think Gimli is rather enjoying the whole thing though, as he gets to complain and be gruff quite a lot.

fliewatuet - I love the maturity Pippin displays in this chapter, even though it is a sad tale in itself that he should leave his innocence behind in a grim situation like this.  
Pippin – It is very sad, isn't it? Sniff. People should send me hugs and kisses and cuddles to make me feel better. And food. And ale. Um, maybe I'm not as mature as I am trying to be…

Neige: "confused flailing"- I don't know why, but that made me laugh. Perhaps because "flailing" is, in general, such a strange word. And Boromir! Boromir is perfect for Hobbit comfort. I like Boromir. I like Hobbit comfort. Except that Merry is hurt! bites nails He'll get better soon, won't he?!  
And Sam, I would love to read your "little book" on Merry and Pippin. Should I be more worried?

galadrielady: WAHH! NOT MERRY!  
Merry: My sentiments exactly!

Nayana Baggins: You will not kill Merry or Pippin or Sam or Frodo! Well to make it more enjoyable maybe Frodo.  
Merry: Hey you certainly know how to have a good time! We could all have fun with that!

Elwyna: Very good! I am now quite worried for Gimli...what will happen to him?  
Gimli: Well I should get a decent storyline and some good dialogue for once!

Elanor: I of course don't know what the original form looked like  
Llinos: Your worst nightmare – well my worst nightmare actually.  
Elanor: but I imagine it was pretty hard to make into a narrative story...  
Llinos: Well yes…  
Merry: Take no notice of her, she just looking for sympathy, whereas I'm the only one who needs sympathy around here.

Melilot hill: I might have to write another "ode to" for this story :)  
Merry: All gratefully received – we need all the odes we can get!

Hyperactive Forever: please don't let anyone die!  
Merry: That's what Pip and I said – but I don't know if they're listening.

Sam - The way Pippin behaves really "shows his quality" …  
Pippin – Who would've guessed! Not me certainly!

Celebrean: I hope Merry's okay and Frodo and Pippin and Sam, and Gimli, and Legolas...uh, the others aren't hurt at all are they?  
Merry: No Aragorn and Boromir are fine as far as I know. Just as well – someone's got to look after Pip and me.

lindahoyland: I'm still worried about Merry and hope for more of him and Aragorn in the next chapter  
Merry: Hold that thought and keep it there.

hobbitsandkilts - Hopefully he won't lose his Merry…  
Pippin – But he was so badly hurt! I can't help but think that he must be dead, sniff…Oh, my Merry!


	5. Soldiering On

The East Gate  
Authors The Eastgaters

Cast list  
Frodo – Baylor  
Samwise – Budgielover  
Pippin – Marigold  
Merry – Llinos  
Legolas – Mainframe  
Aragorn – Nilramiel  
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker  
Gimli – Q

Beta Marigold  
Story Editor Llinos

Chapter 5 – Soldiering On

Frodo placed one last kiss on Merry's forehead and murmured, "Be safe, Merry-lad," before moving away so Legolas could stand. He then sat back on his heels and watched the elf's flight toward the faint line of foliage in the far distance. As Legolas vanished from sight, Frodo bowed his head, letting his chin sink into his chest.

Sam watched until the swiftly-moving figure was out of sight, then sat himself down and started looking through his pack for anything clean that might be used as bandages.

Gandalf fallen, Pippin, Boromir and Gimli almost certainly dead, and Merry undoubtedly soon to follow, Frodo took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling anew the crushing pain in his chest where the spear had struck him. It was nothing to the pain of his loss.

Frodo got to his feet shakily. Somewhere inside him, a small kernel of determination, strong as mithril, was pushing its way to the fore. There was no going back for the three companions still in the mines – to do so would be suicide. Gandalf, likewise, was beyond their reach. Merry he had turned over to Legolas' care and swift feet. There was only one thing left for Frodo to do, only one way he could make certain these losses were not for naught. He must destroy this accursed Ring. Frodo turned toward Aragorn. "I am ready," he said.

Aragorn looked at Frodo, one eyebrow slightly raised, he could see that some resolve had come over the hobbit. Surely he did not mean that he was ready to move on – to continue the Quest? What stuff was he made of, this younger Baggins of the Shire? Would even Bilbo, whom Aragorn knew was an exceptional hobbit, stand here filthy and bereaved, ready to walk on to his own doom?

"You are injured, Frodo, as is Sam," he said after a long moment of thought. "I must tend you, but I fear the end of day. We are too close to the Gate for my comfort, and when nightfall comes, we may be pursued. If you are both able to walk, I would move further from the mountain before we take a real rest." He looked up towards the towering peaks again, wondering if he should tell the hobbits what he knew – that Pippin and the others were still alive and fighting when he fled from the horror of the Gate. He knew they could not go back.

Even if any of the three yet lived, which was unlikely, the Quest must not fail! Perhaps the importance of a single golden Ring would be unknown to the isolated Moria orcs, but were one of those filth to wear It, he would soon be mastered by It and would undoubtedly make his way towards the Shadow in the East. No, he could not put the Ring-bearer at risk, not even for three others of the company. Not even for young Peregrin, who was virtually still a child. And, what saddened him more, he believed Frodo knew this as well.__

As he came out of his initial shock, Frodo became more aware of his battered body. He ached horribly, everywhere, and each breath brought a stabbing pain with it. But he, too, wanted to put some distance between them and the mines before nightfall.

"I can continue, for a bit," he told the Ranger, adding, "although I don't know how quickly. If Sam can go on, as well, we should leave this place. We must get to safety, and soon."

He allowed himself one look back at the Gate, one last thought about those left behind. Then he turned to look at Sam.

Sam met his master's eyes, glad their little party was to be moving too. The Gates had not vomited forth any orcs to pursue them, but he could almost swear he felt their beady, hating eyes upon the shattered remnants of their Company. As the shadows lengthened, the Gates more and more resembled a mouth. A black, cavernous mouth with broken teeth, which exhaled a foul stench… His Gaffer had always said that he imagined too much. Right now he was imagining what was going on in that horrible place, and he didn't want to. He couldn't help Master Pip and the others, but he could still do his best to see that Frodo got out of here safely. "I can walk, sir. I'm not hurt bad. Just a cut on the forrid and it's stopped bleeding."

Sam stuffed the improvised bandages back in his pack and stood. He had no doubt, from the stiff, upright posture of his master, they'd be needing them, especially the way he saw that Frodo avoided taking deep breaths. He caught Strider eyeing his master too, and nodded at him in unspoken accord. Sam picked up Frodo's pack and held it up for him to spare him the bending.

The ground was treacherous here, cold and gritty. The lifeless soil caught unpleasantly between the toes. After a while Sam found he was puffing slightly and he feared that Aragorn set too fast a pace, for if he was struggling then surely Frodo was also. But he could hardly protest if his master did not. Sam grit his teeth and followed doggedly. He kept himself at Frodo's back, turning constantly to check behind them. As they walked, Sam kept an eye out for the _glaslichen_ moss, stooping to carefully pry it from the ground and nestle it safely in a pocket whenever he came across it. It was becoming more difficult to spot as they walked; the ground itself hid it from his searching eyes. The earth over which they trudged was grooved as if the rock itself had liquefied then reformed into folding runnels of earth, like butter left in the sun then hastily returned to the cold room. His sharp eyes everywhere but on the path before him, it was inevitable that he should slip. Down Sam went, in a tumble of cooking pots and pack and pained exclamation.

Frodo stopped and spun around as he heard Sam cry out, the clamour of the pots against the rocky terrain startling in the quiet. A few short steps took him to Sam's side.

"Aragorn!" he cried ahead of them. "I think he may be hurt!" Without waiting to see if Aragorn was heeding his call, he crouched beside Sam. "Are you all right, Sam?" he asked, his own hurts momentarily forgotten in his concern.

Sam struggled to his feet, grimacing with embarrassment. "Sorry, Mr. Frodo," he said. "I was so busy watching everything 'round us, I forgot to watch my own big feet. No harm done." With a wave and another grimace at the Ranger, he steadied himself and carefully rotated an ankle. It twinged slightly but he could tell that he'd been lucky. He'd been wanting a breather but hadn't planned on earning one by clumsily falling over his own feet.

Still, if he could use his awkward tumble to gain a moment's respite for himself and his master, he'd take it. Aragorn was pushing them too hard, in Sam's opinion. He slung his pack around and laid it on the cold ground, making a great show of checking it for damage. He deliberately lingered in ensuring that his precious pans were undamaged and secure – strong, nimble fingers checking the knots. He suspected that Frodo knew he was dawdling, but he wasn't being taken to task for it. Until, unable to delay further, Sam shook his head and resettled his pack, and started to take a step when he froze, one foot raised in the air.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered. "It sounded like a hiss." He shut his eyes, listening with all of his might. Now that they were not moving and still, the sound of bare, flapping feet came to his straining ears. They pitter-pattered on a few more steps, then fell silent. Sam looked at his master with horror dawning in his eyes. "It's him, isn't it? That Gollum creature. He's coming after us, now that the others are gone. He's coming after us."

-0000000-

Merry did not feel the Ranger pack the wound with _glaslichen_, nor the strips of cloth being bound about his chest. He sat calmly cradled in his grandmother's arms as if he were a babe again. She rocked him gently to and fro and he snuggled into her warm, welcoming bosom.

But as Legolas plucked his still form up from the ground, albeit with great care, he felt a jolt and his mind fled back to his body for a moment. He saw the blood in a great pool spread at Aragorn's knees, he saw the bloodstained clothes that had been torn off but were now wrapped around him again as he lay in the elf's arms. Merry cringed at the quantity of blood that had come from his own veins and, as his mind and soul flew back up to his grandmother he knew for certain he could not survive this.

"Grandmamma Gilda?" Merry whispered, "why is Legolas taking my body? What does he want with it? Shouldn't he just burn it or bury it now I'm dead?"

"No Merry," She whispered back still rocking him and humming an old Shire lullaby in between her words. "You're not dead, my dear, Mr Legolas is trying to save you."

"But Grandmamma," Merry breathed in astonishment, "how can I live without all that blood, there is too much spilt, I see it on the ground and on Aragorn's hands, on my clothes."

"It is surprising how much blood a hobbit can lose and yet live," Menegilda told him gently, "Do you remember that time that Berilac cut you with the scythe?"

"I do Grandmamma," Merry nodded up at the wise woman's kindly face, "Mama and Papa thought I would die."

"But you didn't my dear." Menegilda stroked his hair. "You're still alive Merry, it's not time to come to Grandmamma yet to stay."

((((((((((0)))))))))))

It was the autumn of 1410, a grand harvest was in prospect and Buckland was ripe for picking. The wheat was higher than the hobbit children's heads and even Merry's father, Saradoc could only just see over the ripened ears.

Barley was in abundance too as was the maize and root crops. All had been gathered in on the Took Estates. Whitwell and Tuckborough had garnered all that was to be had and it was safely stored away in granaries and sheds ready for the winter. Now many of the Tooks had come to Buckland to give a hand to the Brandybucks to reciprocate their earlier assistance.

"Berilac show us again." Pervinca giggled as she sat on the edge of the hay manger in the smaller barn holding hands with Estella. "You're so good at making it whoosh!"

"And so strong – it must be ever so heavy." Estella giggled too. Both the lasses knew that Berilac was showing off, but that was what made it fun.

"I could do it." Pippin stated proudly, mimicking Berilac's movements with a headless broom. "See it's not so hard."

"You can't Pippin." Pervinca retorted, swinging her legs to and fro, "Because you're not allowed to touch the scythes."

"Well I will soon." He snorted. "It's not my fault I'm not tall enough yet. You wait till I grow, then you'll see!"

"In the meantime you'll have to stack the stooks and glean for grain like the rest of the children." Estella laughed. "It's not so bad Pip, at least you get a drink of cider and a ride on the haywain."

"Can I just try Beri?" Pippin pleaded in his most wheedling tone. "Just a little go."

"No Pip, it's too heavy for you yet and you're too small." Berilac teased and then swung the scythe in a wide arc just as Merry jumped down from the hayloft. He landed lightly on all fours, but did not see the sharp farm implement coming and it was moving too fast for Berilac to stop it. The scythe caught Merry on the back of his thigh, slicing a cut that was clean but deep.

"Yeow!" Merry yelped at the sudden impact, although it had not actually hurt a great deal. Berilac dropped the scythe in horror and rushed to Merry's side. Pippin cautiously picked it up and placed it very carefully back in its rack and then turned to see what the damage was. He gasped at the gash on Merry's leg that was spurting blood.

"I'm sorry Merry!" Berilac pulled his handkerchief out and clamped it over the wound. "It was an accident – I'm so sorry!"

Pervinca and Estella jumped down from the manger and hurried to examine the injured Merry who was now sitting on the barn floor, a little white faced but stoically laughing and joking. "Don't worry Beri, it's only a scratch, Estella's done worst than that when I pulled her plaits."

"Meriadoc Brandybuck!" The accused Estella snorted in rebuttal. "I never did!"

"Is it bad Merry?" Pippin asked tentatively, he could see a lot of blood on the handkerchief.

"No, it'll be all right," Merry assured him. "This hankie is a bit bloody though."

Estella and Pervinca both giggled at Merry's use of the word 'bloody'. "Merry, your language!" Estella rebuked.

"Here Merry," Pippin dug through his pocket and found the clean handkerchief that had been put there that morning by Pearl, but not employed as sleeves were so much easier and quicker. "Use mine."

"I'll do it!" Estella took over and removed the makeshift bandage around Merry's leg to replace it with the new one. "Um… Berilac I think you'd better get a grown up – I mean a real grown up. There's too much blood and I can't stop it properly."

"Merry?" Berilac's voice took on a low conspiratorial tone, "you won't tell, will you? You know, tell our parents, that I did it."

"No of course not." Merry looked up at Estella's worried face. "They'll only make a fuss and I'm all right, honestly."

"Thanks cousin," Berilac breathed a sigh of relief. He had been in enough trouble lately, what with being caught drinking strong ale and kissing a lass behind the barn.

"Berilac, I think you'd better run." Estella warned, "it's really not stopping." Berilac seemed frozen to the spot with horror at the sight, as the wound began to bleed even more profusely under her small hand. Estella looked from Berilac to the others, "Vinca, you run and find someone **_quickly_**."

"I'll go!" Pippin was out of the barn and running before anyone could say anything else. By the time he returned, running behind his Uncle Saradoc, Merry was white-faced and almost unconscious.

Merry's father swept his son up in his arms and strode to the Hall, shouting as he went to one of the mowers to fetch Daisy Longflower at once. Pippin ran at his Uncle's heels once more, followed now by a distraught Estella and Pervinca. As they rushed towards the backdoors of the Hall, a trail of blood marked their progress, making the hobbits' hearts skip with fear for their cousin.

"Pippin!" Paladin's voice brought him up short as they reached the back door, "How did this happen? How did your cousin cut his leg so badly?"

Saradoc had laid Merry on the kitchen table, the cook sweeping all the contents crashing to the floor in her haste to clear it. Daisy Longflower the healer was there within minutes, word travelled fast during an emergency. Quickly she applied a thick poultice to stem the blood flow, abruptly calling instructions to the cook to make up a brew she would need.

Pippin looked at his father, wondering what he should say, but his eyes were dragged inexorably back to the table. How much blood had Merry lost? How much could he lose? "Please let him be all right, please let him be all right!" Pippin whispered the litany under his breath over and over.

"Pippin!" his father shook him now, as he seemed to be in another world. "Vinca? Estella, one of you, what happened?"

Pippin's mind quickly replayed the conversation Berilac and Merry had had, just before Estella had realised how bad the wound was. Merry had agreed not to tell on him. That meant that he couldn't tell either. But where was Berilac?

"Um… we were fooling around in the barn." Estella offered lamely, "and it just happened, it was an accident."

"Something very sharp!" Daisy looked up for a second. "A scythe by the looks of it – was it?"

"Who was fooling around with scythes?" Paladin demanded. "You all know better than that! Was it a scythe?"

"Y-yes sir." Pippin would not lie about that. The information might be important to the healer.

"Well who was it?" Paladin glanced anxiously back at Merry, still and white on the table, his father leaning over the healer's shoulder, Esmeralda holding and patting her son's hand.

Pippin's mind did a somersault. Merry had told Berilac he wouldn't tell, Estella was staring at the floor, obviously in the same dilemma and Vinca was weeping inconsolably. "It- it was me sir." Pippin's voice trembled with pain and tears filled his eyes as he spoke the words, but he could not think of another way out.

"But Son, you know…" Paladin trailed off. There was no point in berating Pippin, he was distraught enough at his cousin's state and his father's anger was not what he needed. Paladin put his arm around the lad's shoulder and reached out to draw Vinca into his other arm. "Accidents happen, that's why we make rules. You understand now?"

Pippin looked up through his tears, "Is Merry going to be all right Papa?"

"I don't know yet." Paladin sighed, "but you three must go and wait outside now and keep out of the way."

"Oh Merry!" Pippin sobbed, "please be all right. Please don't die!" He looked over at the table hardly daring to see his poor cousin. Merry was unconscious, deathly white but obviously still breathing, else they would not be working so hard around him.

The three youngsters were firmly led outside and told to wait. "What happened to Berilac?" Pippin asked as soon as they were alone.

"When you went to get help, he ran off." Estella explained as she hugged and hushed Vinca, drying her eyes and giving her the hankie to blow on. "I think he was very scared."

"Should we try to find him?" Pippin suggested. "Only I don't think anyone will be cross with him. He didn't mean to do it."

"Why did you own up to Papa?" Vinca sniffed, "You didn't do it Pip."

"I know," Pippin agreed, "But Merry promised Berilac not to tell, so I couldn't tell either."

"I don't want to go and look for Berilac," Vinca sobbed, "I want to stay here to see about Merry."

"So do I Vinca," Pippin sighed, "More than anything. But there's nothing we can do for Merry and don't you think Berilac might be really scared – I know I would be."

"Pippin's right," Estella agreed. "We'll split up and look for him and tell him he won't be in trouble."

Pippin found him. He was at the far end of the Oaken Field hiding in the last haystack. He sat with his arms crossed over his face sobbing with large heaving gulps.

"Beri?" Pippin had crept up quietly, "Beri? It's all right, it's just me, Pippin. Don't cry, come back to the house."

"Pip?" Berilac looked up from his arms, his sight blurred by tears, his eyes red and raw, "Is – is he…?"

"We don't know yet." Pippin was surprised at how calmly he was speaking. His heart was thumping in his breast in terrible fear for Merry, but he knew at this moment Beri's need was also great. "Come back to the house, please. They won't be cross, it was an accident."

"But if I've killed him! My own cousin! How could I have been so stupid? I was just trying to show off and I should have known better." Berilac put his head back in his arms and heaved another heartrending sob, his body shaking with grief.

"Beri we don't know yet. I'm sure he's still alive – I think they can save him. Please don't be blaming yourself for what hasn't happened."

"But Pip, what if he does die?" Berilac looked up again, his bottom lip trembling as he tried to contain his tears, "I'll be a murderer – I'll be to blame for my cousin's death."

"No you won't Beri," Pip told him. "You'll be the cause of an accident – nothing more. In any case, I told Papa that it was me."

"What?" Berilac stopped crying for a moment and looked up in shock. "Pippin why would you do that?"

"Well, Merry promised not to tell on you, so when Papa asked me I didn't know what else to say – I couldn't break Merry's promise."

"But Pip, it was Merry's promise," Berilac exclaimed, "Not yours. I'll have to go back now."

"Yes quick, let's go, I couldn't leave you here," Pippin breathed a sigh of relief, " and I need to find out how Merry is."

"I know," Berilac rubbed his swollen eyes. "I do too, and I have to tell your father the truth. I can't have you blamed for my stupidity."

The two hobbits arrived at the back entrance of Brandy Hall to find a crowd gathered. Farm labourers, villagers and neighbours were waiting for news of the lad who was so bad hurt. Pippin's heart was in his throat and pounding remorselessly as he and Berilac made their way through the throng of anxious well-wishers.

Once inside Pippin's heart fell to his feet as he saw the kitchen table scrubbed and bare. "Where's Merry? Oh no! No! No! Please no!"

"Pippin, Pippin!" Pearl had appeared and rushed over to catch her little brother in her arms. "It's all right, he's alive. They moved him to his bedroom. He's still unconscious, but he's breathing well and they think he will survive."

"Oh my!" Berilac sank to the nearest chair, his knees too weak to hold him up. "Oh my." The tears welled up again, only now they were tears of relief.

"Pearl I knew he'd be all right!" Pippin breathed. "I hoped for it so hard."

Paladin appeared now, "Do you want to come and peep at him?" He offered his hand. "Come along, I know you're worried, after your silliness nearly cost Merry his life. Promise me never to do anything like that again Peregrin."

"Please Sir," Berilac spoke up now, "It wasn't Pippin, it was me. I did it. But it was an accident."

"What, but why did you say you had done it Peregrin?" Paladin looked at his son in amazement. "I don't understand."

"Well, sir," Pippin looked sheepishly up at his father. "Merry promised Beri he wouldn't tell and I couldn't break the promise for Merry. But I had to say something."

"Well Peregrin, it was a lie and you know what we've told you about lying." Paladin said sternly.

"Yes sir," Pippin nodded, his head held up. "But I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

"No," Paladin agreed, "You did it to protect someone and to keep a trust. It was an honourable lie Pippin and I'm proud of you. As for you Berilac," Paladin looked stern, "It was very foolish to play around with the scythe and Merry nearly paid with his life. But I know it was an accident and you did the right thing by coming back to own up, so let's say no more about it."

"Yes sir," Berilac agreed. "Thank you sir."

"Except," Paladin added, "You must tell Saradoc and Esmeralda, we can't have them thinking it was Pippin's accident."

"Yes sir." Berilac agreed. He turned to his little cousin "Thank you Pip, that was a very noble thing you did, I'm sorry I teased you about being small – you're the biggest hobbit I know."

((((((((((0))))))))))

"That's what happened Merry," as Menegilda finished the tale her grandson felt himself slipping from her grasp. "You lost so much blood then, all thought at one time you would die. But you held on. Hold on now, if only for your dear cousin. He loves you very much and you must fight for that if nothing else."

"Yes Grandmamma, I will." Merry felt the words leave his lips and realised he had said it out loud. He opened his eyes and dimly realised he was being carried swiftly along, held in someone's arms. Not his Grandmamma, she could not run so fast as he remembered. Merry recognised the soft fabric of the elven garment. It was Legolas.

-0000000-

As Legolas ran, his mind was awash with images, thoughts that jostled for attention and questions that demanded answers, yet he pushed them away, locking them into that place in his mind which he had used so often of late… now was not the time. In his weary mind he chuckled, time was something that had never held much meaning to him before… before Estel.

After all what is ten years, thirty, fifty, eighty to an immortal? It is the blinking of the eye, a ripple in the slow-moving stream. Yet a mortal could have been born, lived a full life and died in that blink, it was evident every time his mind wandered to Estel, for he had grown into a man in that short span of years and, whilst his Númenorean blood granted him a longer span of life than an ordinary human, the fact remained, which Legolas still could not fully accept, Estel would die.

There is a reason, Legolas grimly reflected whilst adjusting his grip on Merry to ease the little one's discomfort as much as was possible as he fled deeper into the forest. Yes, the reason why his father had tried, desperately at one point, to discourage his association and fast growing friendship with the young mortal Estel. At the time Legolas had seen it as his father trying to interfere with his life and steer him onto a path of his choosing, yet now he realised that, as ever, his father had been trying to spare him the pain of befriending a mortal.

Legolas was no stranger to death; many of his friends had fallen defending the 'Greenwood', more so this last two centuries as the orcs became more daring and organised in their assaults. And for each life lost he had mourned as only an immortal could. He, like others who had suffered lose of friend or family, held onto the hope that one day they would be reunited again, if not in the Halls of Waiting, then in Valinor where the fallen fea would be rehoused and their friends reborn.

Having been born in Arda Legolas knew not if this was true or if it was simply a belief that allowed those left behind comfort and the strength not to fade. He had never dwelt on it overmuch but, with each immortal life snuffed out, the longer and harder he and those under his command fought.

But when his father had summoned him back to the palace, what he saw as he looked into his son's eyes obviously disturbed him greatly for he refused to allow him to return to fight and instead sent him to Imladris to rest, in the hope that Elrond and the hidden valley would be able to bring the light back to his eyes.

There he had met Estel.

"I do Grandmamma…" Merry murmured so softly that even elven hearing could barely discern it.

Legolas leaned back enough to see Merry's face clearly. At the sudden loss of body heat the little hobbit tried to turn his face back to where it had been comfortably resting tucked into the elf's warm neck, but strength failed him and the gesture was left half completed.

But from this angle Legolas was able to make a quick assessment of the hobbit. His small face was still half covered in dried flaking orc blood and the collar of his hastily removed shirt was thickly crusted with heavier things that as the day progressed were starting to smell badly. It occurred to the elf then that he would have to stop soon and take the time to wash some of the grime away lest the wound become infected.

This decision made, he hastened his pace a little and allowed his senses to stretch as far as they would go, allowing the rhythm of nature to help wash away some of his fatigue whilst he chose a new path towards the slow moving water he'd picked up on the very edge of his range.

The forest seemed to unfurl for him like the new leaves on the trees in spring and closed behind him to help cover his path from others. This part of the forest was not old like Caras Galadhon with her towering ancient silver-barked mallorn trees steeped in enchantment and, though he was a stranger to this forest, it opened for him and, as he ran by them, the trees whispered of their plight and the dark ones that now often passed under their canopy, cutting and burning where they went, spreading like tendrils to pillage and pollute in a never ending stream.

Then they spoke of a shadow that had passed overhead towards the setting sun, and to Legolas' dismay he knew that it had been travelling to Dol Guldur in his father's realm.

"Yes Grandmamma, I will." Merry whispered. Yet the hobbit was stirring and growing restless within his grasp as he tumbled through memories until language turned into indistinct syllables and he moaned to himself as if trying to recapture a lullaby. He knew that consciousness was returning to his friend and that with the reconnection of body and soul would be pain.

The light was fading by the time they reached the bank of the Nimrodel, its swiftly moving waters casting their own spell on the weary travellers. Merry had woken a short time ago in confusion and much pain as his tightly fisted hands clutched Legolas' green suede travel tunic.

"We will rest here Merry; you will be more comfortable soon." Legolas

-0000000-

Gimli was uncomfortable. He tried moving but quickly stilled as a wave of nausea swept over him. Throwing up was about the only undignified thing that he had managed not to do thus far during this fiasco and he was determined to keep what little remained of his dignity.

The man was obviously enjoying his baiting almost as much as that elf did, though his motivations were clearly different. Gimli was not so befuddled with pain that he did not recognise the intent behind Boromir's jibes and, although he would never show it, he was grateful.

For all that the man was trying to help he yearned to get some control back from the other warrior, and he could do that by dictating his own care at least, though the others would have to assist him. Where had Pippin gone? He could find some splinting material perhaps. He turned his head carefully, trying to find the little one. "Pippin, laddie, could you..."

"Could I what, Gimli?" Pippin stooped and laid the splints next to Gimli, then crouched down next to him. "I thought if your leg is broken that we would need some splints, so I brought some pieces of wood from that ladder. Two of these should do I would think." He tilted his head a bit to the side, the better to look the prone dwarf in the face and smiled at him. "Is there anything else can I do to help?" He swivelled his head to look up at his other friend. "Or you Boromir? What else do you need me to do? "

Boromir was more than a bit surprised to say the least! "Well done, lad, well done." He picked up one piece of the broken wood and resisted the urge to tousle Peregrin's hair as he so often had done when pleased with something one of the hobbits did. He had frequently had to remind himself that the hobbits were not mere boys, and after Pippin's bravery this day he determined never to forget that fact again.

Testing the hefty stick that used to be part of a ladder by lightly tapping one end on the ground, Boromir deemed it suitable for the purpose. "We will need something to pad these and something to use in securing it to Gimli's leg. Peregrin, did you perchance find something like that in your search?"

Pippin was so proud at Boromir's praise that he thought he would burst. He was very tired but thought furiously of anything he had seen that might suit. "The only thing might be useful would be the rope that is tied to the water bucket but then we would have nothing with which to draw up the water, and the rope that tied the ladder together is all but rotted away... " He perked up suddenly. "It may not be big enough to be much use but there is my other shirt!" He reached for his pack to fish out the garment.

Gimli did not miss the flash of pride that suddenly lit up the youngster's weary face at Boromir's words, even beneath the coating of blood and filth. Even after Peregrin's bravery and dogged perseverance during the trials of this horrendous day of grief and loss did the lad still doubt whether he was pulling his weight? He too should say something to bolster the young warrior's confidence, and give praise where it was due.

"Indeed Peregrin, that was fine work anticipating the need for those splints, and I thank you." He held out a hand to stay Pippin from opening his pack, his large hand closing over the small one and giving it a quick clasp then drawing it back, embarrassed at showing his approval in a physical way, yet knowing from all of the time he had spent travelling with the hobbits just how much they thrived on the touch of kin or a close companion.

This was Gimli's first attempt at doing such an alien thing save for an infrequent clap on the back and he felt a trifle awkward but a little embarrassment was worth it to give the lad some encouragement, and he was already in about as embarrassing a position as one could be in anyway. Of course he would have preferred that the man hadn't been watching but there was no help for it and Gimli sighed inwardly. His reputation was all but shattered this day. Next thing he knew he would be spending time alone in the company of the elf. If the elf still lived that is, and if Gimli survived this adventure.

"You are right though, your shirt would be too small to be of help, though I thank you greatly for the offer of it." Gimli would never have let the lad tear up his spare shirt for his sake. For all that Pippin's everyday shirt was finely made and detailed with much delicate stitching and embroidery it had been made for the lad by a tailor. The spare shirt that was being so selflessly offered was what Pippin had with great pride called his _'best ever_' shirt, and he only wore it on special occasions; banquets in Rivendell, Aragorn's birthday, days that were celebrated back in the Shire, when they made camp long enough to allow for the washing of their everyday clothes. Otherwise it was kept folded neatly in a paper wrapping in the lad's pack.

Meriadoc had been the hobbit most interested in looking his best, and Gimli and the others had heard many a teasing jest and story on the trail about young Merry and his interest in his clothes and his reputation as a dashing young hobbit with an eye for the lasses, but Pippin cared little how he looked or dressed for the most part. But this shirt was special to him – it had been made for him by his own mother, and was a soft yellow colour with carefully embroidered entwined leaves in a variety of autumn shades on the front and around the cuffs. The right collar point had two leaves in shades of red and orange, and the left a smaller leaf of bronze and Pippin's initials.

Peregrin's mother had made it for him as a Yule gift, two years ago. There was not a member of the Fellowship that did not know the complete history and every detail of Pippin's wondrous shirt. Pippin himself might not realise it but Gimli and the others knew that it was not just the shirt itself that Pippin loved, it was that it represented home to him, and the mother he missed terribly, a fact he would not admit to anyone, except perhaps Merry. Gimli was relieved beyond measure that it was indeed too small to be of use, for the lad was ready to sacrifice it for Gimli's well being without a second thought. However he did not have any solution either.

"My extra clothing was lost outside the door when the Watcher attacked. I fear we will have to think of some other solution." Gimli rested his head back on the stony floor and cursed himself for his clumsiness for the hundredth time.

Pippin was almost dizzy now with pleasure as well as weariness – not only had Boromir praised him but so had Gimli, and he had even clasped Pippin's hand as he had sometimes seen the dwarf and the Men do on the trail when they were pleased at something that one of them had accomplished. Gimli had given him a pat on the back a few times certainly, but this gesture made him feel suddenly very grown up indeed. So perhaps then he had best pick his jaw up off the floor where it had dropped and start thinking as Gimli said they must do. Well, if he and Gimli had no clothing they could use, it would have to be Boromir's. But Boromir carried little in the way of extra clothes …_except_…Pippin gasped in delight.

"Boromir, your under-tunic, the nice warm one that you insisted I put on over my clothes when we were climbing the mountains when I was so very cold. Do you have that in your pack? We should be far enough to the south now that you won't need it any more when we get out of here."

Boromir raised eyebrows, "My under-tunic? The only piece of spare clothing I carry? The long, fine linen one with the silk facings?" He looked at the dwarf as if judging whether or no this was worth the sacrifice. "There must be something else."

Gimli tried not to roll his eyes. Could the man be more obtuse? Then the dwarf caught the inflection that he was being ragged in that same subtle way that the elf employed and decided to decline the bait. Besides, he was not certain that Peregrin would not take it literally, especially as Boromir was making no attempt to retrieve the garment from his bag but looking about them, in spite of Peregrin's thorough reconnaissance.

"If you are looking for your pack, I am sure Pippin can tell you where it is as he has done so well already in his search." Gimli narrowed his eyes pointedly, the inflection on selected words oh so slight. He hoped he succeeded in keeping his exasperation and derision from showing in his voice or on his features.

"In fact, I can tell you where it is from here...it is still upon your back. Doubtless you are so weary from the morning's exertions that you had forgotten such a simple thing. Now, if you would be so kind as to produce this wondrous garment that our young friend has so cleverly remembered we can take care of my small problem and move on to the greater difficulties that face us all. Otherwise I shall have to accept Peregrin's generous offer of his Yule shirt in spite of the fact that the garment is too small to be of use, as I have no intention of lying here any longer than I need to."

Gimli hoped he had been vague enough that Pippin had not picked up on his chiding of the man for his idiocy over worrying about a simple undergarment when the laddie's precious Yule shirt was at stake. The man had never even worn the thing but once or twice. Pippin had probably been wrapped in the garment for longer as they struggled to pass over Barazinbar than Boromir had worn it upon their entire journey. Hoping to distract the lad if he had been too blunt with his words he turned to Pippin and gestured towards Boromir. "Why don't you help Boromir off with his pack Peregrin. He is clearly weary almost beyond comprehension." And he narrowed his eyes again at the man, daring him not to understand.

But Boromir did not miss the underlying derision in the dwarf's voice. He was flustered at first, left wondering if he'd pushed the limits of the dwarf's humour. Then it dawned on him, Gimli thought he was suggesting they use Peregrin's spare shirt!

He whispered "I'm not so dense dwarf as to..." but stopped short remembering just how acute a hobbit's hearing was. "Of course we will use my under-tunic. It is long and thick and should be well suited to the purpose". Slinging his pack to the ground and deftly whipping it open he gestured to Peregrin that he should remove the garment. "I will go and fetch the water." As he heaved himself up onto impossibly tired legs and started his walk over to where the hobbit had indicated a possibly serviceable well existed.

Pippin carefully retrieved the garment then moved further down to where he could make eye contact with Gimli to be more companionable as he prepared the splints. "I watched Merry do this once, Gimli, when our Cousin Robin broke his leg," Pippin said conversationally even as he pulled the two lengths of wood that Boromir had selected closer. "Merry explained everything to Robin and me as he was doing it so we would know how, if we ever needed to do the same."

Pippin reached next for his sword, but when he brought the blade near he realised that it was Merry's. He hadn't even had a chance to clean it for his cousin yet and that made him feel very bad, as if he had let Merry down in some way. Pippin hoped that Gimli hadn't seen his lip quiver as again he strove not to cry. Silently he promised himself that he would clean it so that it gleamed at the first opportunity and set it down almost reverently as he resolutely picked up his own.

He was too tired to use the sharp blade safely and make conversation so he settled for a few encouraging glances and grins at Gimli, but mostly he concentrated on performing the task at hand, cutting the garment into suitable lengths and pieces, unconsciously sticking his tongue out in his intentness.

Gimli sighed. Once more he cursed his own foolishness that was causing them to delay dealing with the tragedy of the morning, both emotionally and physically. He too, of course, had cared for Gandalf and felt great affection for Merry and the dwarf shuddered at the memory of the crimson pool of blood that they had seen during their strategic withdrawal. Pippin had no doubt seen it and would not have failed to realise whose blood it had been. Yet the small hobbit had held on to his wits and led Gimli to find this shelter, putting his grief aside even though he had loved Meriadoc above all others for all his young life.

To keep his own mind off their losses he set his wits to instructing Peregrin in how to prepare the cloth properly but there was apparently no need. In fact the little one, though swaying in his tiredness as he sat there, cleverly cut the cloth so that it would be of optimum use, bending all his attention to the task, yet still sparing Gimli the occasional smile. But he was clearly too tired or too withdrawn even to speak while he worked and that Gimli found to be unsettling and he started wishing for the lad's incessant chatter. 'Remember your wish later,' he thought with amusement.

When Peregrin expertly tied the padding he had prepared to each splint, Gimli's eyebrows drew together in consternation. Merry had been that thorough? The lad had had an eye for details, of course, and common sense when he cared to use it, but even still... and for Peregrin to have remembered such details. Surprising.

As Pippin finished his task and moved back to his place at Gimli's head the dwarf nodded his approval. "Skilfully done lad. Now, I have another task for you." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Do not tell Boromir, but my leg is a mite painful. Perhaps you can take my mind off it by telling me that amusing story that you were recounting at our last camp before we tackled the mountain pass? I recall falling asleep to sounds of laughter from the others and would know the ending to the tale." And Gimli hoped with all of his heart that the wish that had crossed his mind a few minutes before would come true.

Boromir found the covered well exactly as described by the hobbit. The bucket, not new but functional sat beside the cistern with a stout rope attached. He checked the rope's strength to ensure it would remain intact. Inhaling, he crouched down and put his hands against the stone's edge. He had to throw his weight into his shoulders while he set his boots solidly underneath him. He was more tired than he thought! Yet the stone moved readily enough.

Lowering the bucket into the depths of the well Boromir hoped for the best – decent drinkable water. At worst, it would be poisoned. Ah, for a bird or a smallish rat to try it on! There'd be no such luck. They'd have to take their chances. He'd try a little first himself and hope he'd be able to taste any anomalies. The bucket jolted with a splash and Boromir let it sink just a little to fill. He brought it up and tipped it out, then lowered it again and let it sink a few more feet before pulling it up to give the water a test.

Clear and cold with no obvious odour. That was good. He wiped his hand on his tunic as best he could, then dipped his hand into the water and waited a few moments – no reactions. Then he tasted it from his hand. Well, it would have to do. They had no other and he felt no immediate adverse effects.

Carrying the dripping bucket over to where the dwarf and the hobbit sat companionably he caught the tail end of what appeared to be the amusing story Peregrin had told once before. Boromir had been on first watch and had missed most of the ending due to him being on the outskirts of the camp. He smiled as he noted the dwarf's neatly splinted leg, then nodded approval as he checked the binding and found it good. The lad was doing well.

"Peregrin, lad. There's plenty of water and it appears to be fresh. Use it as you will, but don't allow the filth we wash off to befoul that in the bucket or in our water skins."

As Pippin came near to the end of his story he hoped that he had helped to ease Gimli's pain by keeping his friend's attention upon the tale he was telling. He knew that he had not been up to his usual story-telling standard, but he had tried his best. Hobbits took the telling of tales to be a serious business and one must always use the proper inflections and tones and the appropriate level of enthusiasm, and of course the right facial expressions and hand and body movements. As a young, and very Tookish relative of Bilbo Baggins, the greatest storyteller that Pippin had ever met, with Gandalf being a close second, Pippin was quite learned at this hobbit-art, took great pride in his natural talent, and he knew a multitude of tales.

One who was not intimately acquainted with the energetic youth would not know that he had been a sickly child, often confined to his bed for long periods of time, and even some who did would never guess that this lad was an avid reader. In fact he probably knew word for word, learned from Bilbo and Gandalf among others, and from the books he had read, tales and lays and songs that would amaze his companions with their depth and antiquity and difficulty, but it was doubtful that he would ever think to tell them those sort of stories, assuming that if he knew them his more travelled and older companions did as well. So during their journey he had always stuck to tales they would not know and, though he did not realise it, they found the same comfort in his simple tales of the Shire as he and the other hobbits did.

Pippin was too tired for anything much in the way of hand gestures but he did try to keep his voice animated and the story interesting and was careful not to let Boromir's return interrupt the smoothness of his telling and so jar Gimli out of the magic of the story. When the tale finally concluded he thought that Gimli might actually have enjoyed it very much even though he had not been at his best.

Taking up his filled water skin he poured a good amount first over each hand, to remove most of the filth, then took up a piece of cloth from Boromir's plundered under-shirt. "I hope you liked the ending Gimli. Sometimes when Sam's Gaffer tells the story he leaves out that bit about Primrose being so bold as to kiss the lad from Pincup as he doesn't think it's proper for young folk to hear." Hoping his friend was still in a good enough humour to suffer him to do this, and hoping he himself still had enough energy to get out of his reach if he wasn't, Pippin began to clean Gimli's face of the dried orc blood and dirt and sweat. "But I decided that you and Boromir were old enough to hear the proper tale told in full, stolen kiss and all."

Gimli suffered Pippin's ministrations though he knew he was perfectly capable of washing his own face and hands. The little one seemed to need to help more than Gimli needed to keep his pride. He swallowed the instinctive retort and continued to lay still.

Pippin helped Gimli to raise his head a bit and drink some water. Only then did he wash his own face, and have a drink himself. He hadn't realised he was so thirsty. Then he picked up Merry's sword, and carefully began to clean it until it shone.

Sighing deeply to help gather his wits, Gimli pulled himself upright and helped himself to the water skin Boromir had placed next to him. Another drink of water helped clear his head but the pain of the leg was wearing heavily. He surveyed the guardroom while thinking on what to do next. Surely, they would not get out the way they came in. Besides the mound of rubble, if Gimli could manage to delve through it, there were the remaining orcs to contend with. They'd most certainly set out sentries. Without a doubt they knew the small party was trapped inside. Well, sitting on his arse wasn't going to get them anywhere. Boromir was washing himself and Pippin was absorbed in cleaning his weapons.

Gimli gingerly tested his other leg to make sure there was nothing wrong with it. Yes, good and solid, just a bruise or two. He smiled at the recollection of the time Samwise half in jest half in amazement asked Frodo if Dwarves were made of stone. It'd been just after part of the ledge they were traversing had collapsed and Gimli wound up on the bottom of a heap of two hobbits, one man and an elf. Nary a bump or bruise he'd suffered. If he could have only been so lucky this time!

He had now managed to get his good leg under him and grunting with a supreme effort, which caused the other two to look up in alarm, Gimli hauled himself upright. He tottered for a moment, shaky and sick to his stomach. Conquering the ill feelings he got a better look around.

"Help me over to that cabinet." Gimli nodded his head to the opposite side of the little guardroom. He made a feeble attempt at a hobble but thought better of moving on his own as pain shot through the leg, into his hip, causing his stomach to clench. Blasted leg! He loathed to ask for assistance but if that cabinet held the secret he suspected, they all stood a good chance of getting out of this prison.

Boromir jumped up to give the dwarf an arm to lean on. He had an inkling of an idea what it cost for the curmudgeon to ask for help so he wasn't going to make a show of it as was his first thought.

Together, they made their way over to the cabinet, Pippin close behind. They could not get far, Gimli's pain was obvious and short of picking up the dwarf and carrying him, Boromir doubted they'd get much further in the next hour. "Tell me your intentions, Master Dwarf, and perhaps our friend, Peregrin, can assist."

"This cabinet here," Gimli grunted between clenched teeth, "'tis a common feature in many of our closed in rooms." Not able to stand the pain any longer, he grabbed Boromir's arm with both of his and sank slowly to the ground.

Boromir jerked his head towards the hobbit. Gimli's head was bowed in an effort to keep from screaming, Boromir was sure. They'd have to let him rest, perhaps even sleep, if they were going to get anywhere without creating a litter to carry him on, which, Boromir was fairly certain, wouldn't be possible even if they had the materials. For more than the obvious reason that Gimli was obstinate.

Pippin went to take his friend's place holding Gimli to sit upright so that the man could be free to move about and follow Gimli's instructions. As much in pain as their friend clearly was, there was something about that unopened cabinet that Gimli was determined to tell them.

Gimli clenched his teeth as the stronger, more doughty body of Boromir was replaced by the much lighter and frailer Pippin, trying not to rest all of his weight upon the little one, but losing the battle and the halfling did not fail him, but bore his deadweight resolutely. As Boromir moved toward the cabinet Gimli struggled against the pain. He must tell them!

"See...both of you? How the vent is but a few feet from the top of the cabinet..." He clenched his teeth against a wave of nausea and forced himself to continue.

"It is not meant only to let air into this chamber as it might appear, but also to ensure that air might pass beyond these walls." He took a deep breath, the pain making him weary almost beyond the exhaustion of the halfling in whose arms he rested.

"It is a bolt hole...a hiding place lies within, meant for the safekeeping of...of..."

Gimli debated telling them what treasures might be protected within, but what now was the use of dissembling – if he could not trust these companions who could he trust?

"...meant for a safe haven for any females and young ones that might... might have need of such. The way in will lie through the cabinet, though the door may also be reached on the other side through the small vent... too small for any enemy to pass through as you can see. There will also be a passage outside the mines if we can find a way to open the door..."

Boromir stopped hand on door and watched as the dwarf slid into sleep or unconsciousness. He moved quickly to help the hobbit arrange Gimli's body to a slightly more comfortable position.

"He sleeps, then. And well needed." Boromir confirmed as he checked Gimli and stifled a yawn himself. The sooner they discovered the benefits of this 'bolt hole' Gimli had been so eager to protect and then to announce, the sooner they might be free from this dungeon. Perhaps they'd be able to catch sign of Aragorn's trail and then on to safety themselves. A flickering of hope rose in his breast.

He had a fiendish time wedging open the cabinet's door. It'd been sealed shut with some effort and a lot of time. The wood creaked and protested as he shoved. Finally, with a yell that probably frightened the little one out of his wits, Boromir wrenched open the cabinet's door to look in on the dwarves' secret.

And saw nothing – a wooden back of a wooden cabinet. Turning to look at his friends, hoping just a tiny bit that the dwarf would somehow wake up and give them more information but knowing it was best for the warrior to sleep, Boromir shrugged, settled his shoulders, flicked his hair back from his face and asked, "now what?"

Pippin thought he might start to cry when there was no evidence of Gimli's "bolt hole" but that would accomplish nothing. With Gimli feeling so badly and clearly needing to sleep due to his injury Pippin took a deep breath, determined to hold on a bit longer. He eased his friend to the ground and crawled over to Boromir, too weary to even bother to rise to move those few feet. He struggled upright by hanging onto Boromir's surcoat and surveyed the interior of the cabinet intently. _Gimli could not be wrong, he just couldn't..._ Pippin thought back to when they were outside the Moria Gates and remembered Gimli saying that dwarf-doors were not meant to be seen.

On sudden impulse he stepped up to the cabinet, and closing his eyes ran his fingers over the back wall... nothing... perhaps not where one would expect a door to be placed... maybe off to one side? He ran his fingers over the surface, on the left, then on the right, further down... then at last! Higher up and to the right he felt the slightest difference! Feeling along the infinitesimal groove he could make out a small rectangular area that must be the door! He took a deep breath, opened his eyes and turned to Boromir.

"Boromir, I think this is the way out!"

-0000000-

To Be Continued

**Character's Notes**

Thanks everybody for all the reviews. We have decided, with so many different authors vying for attention that we would ban them from this area altogether and that we story characters would be better at fielding questions and comments as we are far more in touch with things than the writers.

**Important Announcement!!**

Please be sure not to miss the corresponding correspondence that runs in tandem with this story – there is much more to come as these letters all fell into my hands and, as Frodo has failed to pay me the um... bribe, I mean er... blackmail money... err no I mean, appropriate fee, I am obliged to make them public.

Fro – you still have time – there are quite a few more letters to publish and I don't think **_everyone_** has read them yet! For those that haven't, they are published as Behind the Scenes at The East Gate by The Eastgaters.  
Best regards,  
Meriadoc the sorely wounded, but still rather Magnificent

PS: **Frodo is answering questions this week.**

girlofring: Save Merry, Save Pippin, and get Frodo out of his foreshadowing thoughts. He needs help too!  
Frodo: I've just had a bit of a shock that's all. I'm sure I'll snap out of it and get back to business soon. They are my baby cousins, you know, and it is difficult to have them in such peril. But I am the Bearer of The One Ring, and I shall overcome all obstacles, I'm quite certain.

domstygerr: I am struck down :(  
Frodo: Don't be struck down! You must have faith in the Fellowship, and in the Ringbearer, if they are ever to succeed.

Birch tree: what an amazing Sam you have portrayed here! Just beyond words...  
Frodo: My Sam is quite remarkable, isn't he? I might have to consider giving him a raise this year.

Hyperactive Forever: poor merry, he doesn't know that pip's still alive.  
Frodo: Alas, poor Merry is more worried about our little Pip than about himself. At least Pippin has Boromir and Gimli to help keep him safe.

Elwyna: Why must Gimli always be so cynical and gruff? Boromir and Pippin are just trying to look after him! Oh well, Dwarves will be Dwarves I suppose  
Frodo: Dwarves will be dwarves, indeed, but Gimli is a sensible, good-hearted fellow.

boromir: Great chappy please keep going.  
Frodo: Aren't you trapped in Moria right now?

Celebrean: Hurry Legolas! Don't let Merry die!  
Frodo: Did you hear that, Legolas? RUN. That's my own Merry-lad you're carrying there.

Isil: please, let no one die. It would totally ruin it for me  
Frodo: It will totally ruin it for me, as well, if anyone dies. Gandalf was bad enough -- I don't know what I'll do without my cousins.

Nayana Baggins: you better not kill my Merry! He's the sexy one, you can't kill him!  
Frodo: I beg to differ, Miss Baggins. I am the sexy one.

barb:): I love you, Pip!  
Frodo: Is the smiley-face part of your official name? Because I think that is a quality Pippin might find quite attractive in a young hobbit lass.

smalldiver: Hugs Gimli [snip] hugs Boromir too [snip] and Poor Merry! hugs Merry [snip] hugs Pippin [snip] hugs remaining members of fellowship!  
Frodo: Boromir and Gimli do not appreciate being hugged. I have discovered this myself the hard way, following several attempts at group hugs during our journey. We hobbits, however, always appreciate a good hug. Aragorn accepts hugs only from certain parties; with others, he prefers a manly clasp on the shoulder.

galadrielady945: waves flags and cheers on Legolas:: go Legolas! go Legolas! run, Legolas, run! Frodo: Once again, Legolas, RUN.

Tigertale7: And, Llinos, thanks for putting it all into easy to read format.  
Frodo: Miss Llinos has indeed gone above the call of duty in preparing this story. Our notes were quite a mess when we handed them over to her and demanded she take command of them. Perhaps I should give her that raise I was thinking about for Sam . . .  
Llinos: You mean I'm supposed to get paid for this?  
Merry: Ssshhh! You're not supposed to be in here – characters only.

Pip4: The little interlude where Merry showed Pip what to do earlier was a nice flashback scene.  
Frodo: Merry and Pippin had so many interesting adventures together when they were young, didn't they? That's because they were naughty hobbits. I, on the other hand, have always been mature, well-behaved, and above reproach.

Sam: Sam was very sweet in this chapter! Very Sam Gamgee like.  
Frodo: My Sam is always very sweet, a good lad to have about in a pinch. He tells me he hears the same thing about you (only you're a lass), and now he's blushing a great deal because I told you that.  
Llinos: Am I allowed to say here how much I loved Sam's description of gathering the glaslichen?   
Merry: No – I already told you – card-carrying characters only!

fliewatuet: But I have some fresh strawberries, if you like, and I could send you a bottle of beer or two along with the cuddles ;)  
Frodo: You may send the strawberries and beer directly to me. I will decide who else deserves some. I mean, I will certainly share them with everyone else.

nitedancer: Hey Pip! Where were you? I waited all weekend too! Bring Merry too, I think he could do with a few hugs and kisses as well.. There's plenty to go around.  
Frodo: Perhaps you are not aware, but Pippin is presently trapped in Moria, and Merry is en route to the Lothlórien Emergency Room. I'm not certain what their visiting hour policies are, but I don't think they include hugs and kisses.  
Merry: Well they should!

Anso the Hobbit: poor Merry! I certainly hope there's someone in Lothlórien that can help him.  
Frodo: I hear that Lothlórien has a state-of-the-art medical facility. I hope so!

Freya: Oh, how beautifully Sam explains the situation to the glaslichen. Whichever kind soul is herding questions, please pass on the message to Sam that he is a kind and gentle soul. (And also, my best wishes that Merry is having a peaceful sleep. Travelling by elf cannot be very restful!)  
Frodo: Sam has the greatest of hearts. Perhaps he deserves that raise after all . . . And I am confident my good friend Legolas is doing all he can to keep Merry comfortable during his transportation.  
Llinos: See I said that bit with Sam and the Glaslichen was good!  
Merry: Be quiet!  
Llinos: Sorry your Magnificence!

melilot hill: Now I still don't know if they're going to be all right!  
Frodo: No, that remains to be seen.

hobbitsandkilts: . Meanies I say Meanies  
Frodo: People who call us Meanies do not get invited over to tea.

auntiemeesh: Is there a Hallmark card for this sort of occasion?  
Frodo: There certainly should be, and I'm glad to see that someone understands the great pressure I'm under. Once I am back in control of my emotions, I may have to write to Hallmark and suggest a "Ringbearer" greeting card series.

lindahoyland: A great chapter the best yet!  
Frodo: Why, thank you.

gilrandir: hugs and kisses and cuddles for Pippin and Merry  
Frodo: Merry is in no condition to accept your hugs and kisses, and Pippin is busy. I, however, am in great need of hugs and kisses, and able to accept them.

shirebound: poor Gimli now has another member of the Fellowship to tease him mercilessly!  
Frodo: Gimli likes it and we all know it. Don't listen to a word he says otherwise.


	6. Tears and Fears

The East Gate

Authors The Eastgaters

Cast list  
Frodo – Baylor  
Samwise – Budgielover  
Pippin – Marigold  
Merry – Llinos  
Legolas – Mainframe  
Aragorn – Nilramiel  
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker  
Gimli – Q  
Gollum - Llinos

Story Editor Llinos  
Beta Marigold

Chapter 6 – Tears and Fears

"Mr Frodo – It's that Gollum. I'm sure of it."

Frodo had been glad for the brief respite and so despite being fully aware that Sam was taking his time getting his gear straight, said nothing. Now he squinted at Sam, and tipped his head to hear better. Samwise wasn't wrong. He could hear something, as well, and it might very well have been the patter of flat, unshod feet. Then it stopped, as if aware of them straining their ears to catch hint of it.

Frodo slid Sting out slightly from its sheath. The faintest hint of blue shone out at them – whatever followed was not orc. "Aragorn," Frodo called, careful to keep his voice calm, yet hoping their protector understood their immediate need of his presence.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked, approaching the two with mildly concealed exhaustion in his tone.

Sam did not know quite how to voice his suspicions. He had seen nothing, after all. Perhaps his ever-active imagination had supplied those flat, flapping footsteps? No, Frodo had heard, too. He'd checked Sting, and the blade had not glowed. Just because what came after them wasn't an orc, didn't mean it wasn't a something – something nasty. "I think I heard something," Sam said hesitantly, hating to give Aragorn more cause for alarm. The Man looked so weary, though he sought to hide it.

Sam was well aware that the Big Folk had carried most of the battle before they won free of the Gate. The hobbits had defended themselves and done that well, Sam thought with a small flash of pride as he remembered he'd killed his orc, but all told, it was because of Aragorn and Legolas and Gimli and Boromir that they walked now underneath the westering sun instead of lying dead in that horrible place like Master Pippin and the others. A sudden surge of grief caught him unawares and his throat closed on the words he was trying to form.

Remembering that the Ranger was waiting for him to speak, Sam gestured lamely behind them. "It sounded like…" he trailed off, caught between uncertainty and the possibility that what he feared, might be made true if voiced. "…like flapping feet – following us – following Mr Frodo, anyway."

Frodo looked uneasily back toward the direction the noise had come from. "I heard something, too," he told Aragorn. "But I do not know if Gollum will dare attack us with you present, and in daylight. Fingers around our throats while we sleep is more his style, I think."

He paused and rubbed a hand across his bleary eyes. When he opened them again, spots swam before him for a moment, then faded. Now that he had stopped running, fatigue was setting in hard. There was perhaps one more burst in him, but Frodo could not keep this pace, or perhaps any pace, for long.

The bottom of the sun now touched the top of the mountains.

The Ranger looked, not at Frodo, but scanned the terrain around and behind them; he saw nothing untoward. A pied wagtail skittered across the rocks, bobbing its head as it ran quickly about its business. Overhead a red kite cried its eerie call, indicating its mate was nearby, but being coy.

Suddenly the kite swooped down, it must have sighted some prey in the rocks beneath where the three fugitives stood, unsure what kind of predator might be hunting **_them_** at the moment. There was a scuffle of panicked sound, a screech and a sharp cry and the bird flew up, its talons clutching a scrap of grey fur that looked like a young rabbit. Aragorn followed the line of where the bird had been and his sharp eyes detected a grotesque, gangling shape that scurried quickly into the undergrowth.

He looked back to the two hobbits, taking in their dishevelled and battered appearance, they looked exhausted and Aragorn knew they were both hurt. "I think the creature was hunting as he followed, but the hawk bested him for the rabbit. Frodo is right, he will not dare attack while we are three and awake."

Aragorn looked back towards the Misty Mountains and then ahead to gauge how close they were to safety. "We must pass Mirrormere and try to reach the River Silverlode ere we take much rest. I know that you are each hurt and tired and we are all in grief, but to stop now would be folly. We have suffered losses enough for one day."

The Ranger wiped his hand across his brow and closed his eyes for a brief moment. He knew he was asking too much of these halflings. "Come, I will carry you turn about, that way each of you may take some rest until we can stop." He adjusted his pack, slinging it from his shoulder to his back and reached down to lift Sam, knowing full well that would get an argument for carrying him first. "Do not protest, Samwise, I shall bear Frodo soon, but you are worse off at the moment, that is why you fell. Frodo I think you can manage a little longer?"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Merry felt his breath draw quickly into his body, bringing a shock of pain in its wake. He wanted desperately to fly back to the calm of his Grandmother's arms, but something insistent in his brain was nagging at him that that was not his path.

The arms that encircled him tightly and bore him swiftly along belonged to the elf, and Merry clutched at the green clothing, afraid all at once that he would be dropped, his hands gripping tightly as more agony coursed through his chest. He knew his lips were moving as he desperately tried to tell Legolas to stop, to put him down; that he needed to see where Pippin was. But dimly he could hear his own voice and knew that the sounds he was making made no sense, he could not form the words properly, his brain and his body seemed fractured by the searing pain in his chest.

The jolting seemed endless, as though several ages of man had passed, but in only a few seconds, and suddenly they were stopped. His body was lowered down to the ground bringing fresh waves of shock together with a rush of nausea. Merry felt his teeth clamp hard on his lip to hold in the hurt and his stomach contents, he knew he was causing damage but could not focus enough to stop himself from biting down. He tasted the rusty taint of blood and knew that, without feeling it, he had bitten through his bottom lip.

He tried to focus and dimly his eyes made out Legolas's face above him and beyond that the tendrils of a willow tree. With sudden clarity, he remembered the Old Forest and Old Man Willow on the Withywindle and how he had nearly been crushed in two. The sight panicked him and he struggled weakly, although he had not enough strength now to even raise his arm.

Legolas did not seem worried by the willow, nor did he seem to understand the hobbit's anxiety at being placed under the tree. Merry saw instead a waterskin being offered and he was momentarily distracted as his mouth was dry and tasted unpleasantly of blood, a drink of water would be welcome indeed.

As the liquid ran into his mouth Merry gagged and turned his head to one side to avoid any more of the disgusting taste. Legolas was saying something but all Merry knew was he had to stop him pouring any more of that foul concoction past his lips. That and, if he managed to form words, he needed to know where Pippin was. It seemed strange that he was not by him – he must be hurt too.

The thought spurred a little adrenaline through the hobbit and at last he managed to form coherent words. "Tastes bad!" Merry moved his head away from the drink again. "Where's Pip?"

-0000000-

There was no door in that cupboard, at least none that Boromir could see. But then Gimli had been adamant and Peregrin seemed intent as well. These dwarves and hobbits were strange indeed but Boromir was beginning to trust both more and more. If Peregrin thought there was an opening somewhere in there, then, by the Stars, he'd not gainsay the youngling.

"Can you open it, lad? Is it large enough for someone bigger than a dwarf to enter? I'm not so sure I can fit in there, let alone if I am carrying our friend…"

Pippin felt the outline of what he was certain was the exit.

"I believe you will fit Boromir. It was made for dwarves after all, and Gimli is just as broad as you are despite not being as tall. It will be rather close though... it seems to be just big enough, with no room to spare."

Which made sense if it was designed to keep enemies from following those that had been hidden here. Pippin wondered what had happened to any lady dwarves or children that had been secreted. Surely there must have been some in the Mines, even if just a very few, since Balin and the others had come here with the intention of reclaiming what had once been a great home for his people. Perhaps they had got out at the other end, or perhaps there had been none that were able to make it to this place of safety. Somehow Pippin doubted that; there had been too much care taken to seal the cabinet, and though he pushed as hard as he could, he could not dislodge the concealed entry in the slightest. Nor could he feel any indentation or other sign of how to open the door. He sighed and backed out into the chamber and turned to Boromir.

"I cannot open it, but perhaps there is some magic password that Gimli knows that will do it?" He thought for a moment. "But no, I don't think so. The elves helped with the Doors that we came in, and put the magic in it, but I don't think the dwarves would have trusted anyone with a secret like this."

He suddenly felt very honoured, that Gimli had entrusted them with knowledge held so secret by his kind. These bolt holes were common among the dwarves Gimli had said. If Gimli did not trust them implicitly he would not have revealed this, regardless of their fate, of that Pippin was certain. He knew enough from stories and from the few dwarves he had met to know what a guarded and secretive race they were. Well, Gimli need not fear that Pippin Took would ever reveal what he had learned today, nor would Boromir speak of it, he was sure.

"Since it was sealed up so tightly on this side it must have been used and the door locked on the other side I would suppose." His heart sank as he realised what that meant, and he stared up at the ominous looking little air vent a few feet above the tall cabinet.

He took a deep breath and turned to Boromir again, and tried not to sound terrified of climbing up and crawling into that little black hole that led who knows where. "I'll just go and have a look around I suppose then, shall I?"

Boromir followed the hobbit's upward glance, "Up there?" he pointed to the tiny fresh air vent. Surely Pippin did not mean to try to squeeze through that? He looked again at the little one, standing now, hands on hips, smile on face. Smile on face.

That smile! Boromir was beginning to read this youngling all too well. It was the same smile he noticed months ago when Peregrin had been challenged by his cousin Meriadoc to climb to the top of an incredibly tall but spindly tree when the elf had gone off to scout and the hobbits had grown bored of not knowing the lay of the land.

Frodo had not heard or Boromir suspected Meriadoc would have received a cuff around the head for even suggesting such a challenge, Boromir knew enough to know that hobbits had a tremendous fear of heights. But Peregrin, after his initial fear had planted his hands on his hips, tossed his head, smiled in just that way and had announced, 'Ah, Merry, that's such an easy climb, I'll be up and back before you can sneeze'. He was, at that. And sweat sheened his face and his voice shook. But the youngling was incredibly proud. And Boromir had nearly boxed Meriadoc's ears himself once he'd worked out just what it had meant. What if Peregrin had fallen? Those two cousins ... he was glad he was parent to neither.

Still; there Peregrin stood, challenged by himself, which made Boromir's paternal instincts flare high. "I think not, it is too dangerous."

Pippin almost reacted with the familiar childish response, _'I **can** do it – so there!'_ but he curbed it immediately and found instead a much more adult thought. He had to do it because, quite simply, he was the only one who could. They needed him. He was scared, but he would do it because he must, not because he needed to prove anything to anyone. He felt that he had suddenly understood something very important about being brave and being grown-up.

He grinned at Boromir again, this time with a bit more confidence, and began to unbutton his cloak. "Well, you aren't going to fit, are you?" He took off his sword belt and put it beside his pack along with his cloak, and facing away from Boromir so the man couldn't see his hands shaking, began to dig for his little box of matches. "And hobbits don't mind holes you know so it's lucky for you I am here."

There, he had it, and slipped it inside his shirt. Another deep breath while he fought to dispel the terrors of a very active imagination, then he turned toward Boromir and tried to keep his voice from shaking and look competent enough for the task at hand.

"I have some candles...I will just go as far as I must to see what the other side of the door looks like. Gimli will need to know when he wakes up, so best do it now and be able to tell him straightaway. And if I don't go right now I might lose my nerve." He hoped Boromir knew what it had cost him to admit that and wouldn't argue. "Please give me a boost up to the top of the cabinet Boromir. We both know I am going, so let me just do it and get it over."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Legolas laid Merry down as carefully as he could under the cover of a concerned willow, which had whispered of a soft bed of moss at its roots. Merry gave a grunt of pain as his bodyweight shifted to his back, biting his bottom lip and screwing his eyes tightly shut against the dimming light.

A spasm passed through him and he bit harder into his lip until he broke the delicate flesh and blood began to pool around his white teeth, when at last his eyes opened the elf could see the dizziness that spun in them and thought for a moment that Merry would be sick, only that iron will preventing the hobbit from emptying his stomach all over the wood elf.

Once Merry's laboured breathing grew steadier and his eyes cleared a little, Legolas uncorked the waterskin that Aragorn had hastily fastened to his empty quiver and pressed it to Merry's abused lips. The water was richly laced with _glaslichen_ and would help relieve much of the pain, but Merry pressed his lips together and tried to turn from the flask.

"No Merry, you must drink this little one it will ease your suffering" He gently but insistently pressed the rim to his mouth again and watched as reluctantly the hobbit parted his lips and allowed a little of the precious liquid to trickle in. He swallowed a few sips before he started to choke causing his wound to flare back to life.

"Tastes bad," Merry whispered in a childlike voice that set Legolas' heart breaking, "Where's Pip?"

The question he had dreaded had arrived, and still he had no satisfactory answer. He feared that if he answered truthfully, as he must, that his friend's heart would break and his will to survive diminish. An evasion was his only hope of maintaining the fine balance and he reached back into his mind, desperately searching for the correct tone, the correct wording and stumbled across a memory of a disastrous hunting trip he and Estel had taken when the human had been but thirty years old.

The summer season had been uncommonly wet and whilst they had not strayed far from Imladris they had been caught in a near continuous downpour, which lasted two days and had forced them to abandon their hunt and seek shelter in one of the many caves a day's travel from the valley.

Estel had looked a little pale on that day as they sought shelter and Legolas had noticed how the human's body leaned into his horse seeking more of the animal's warmth, grey eyes dulled with fatigue had met his own concerned ones. The Ranger had simply smiled and shook his head and brushed off the elf's attempts to 'cosset' him as he saw it…but that night the human took a turn for the worst.

It was so sudden and so violent that it shocked Legolas more than he cared to admit as Estel began to cough in his sleep until he lay limp and exhausted and insensible in his arms. Within a day the human was speaking nonsense and burning with fever.

Legolas had rushed him back to his father, Lord Elrond, as soon as the weather allowed the horses to negotiate the narrow valley paths, upon arrival Estel had been rushed into the healing chambers by his father. It was his first experience of mortal frailty and not even Estel's foster brothers Elladan and Elrohir could convince the shocked prince that their brother would be well.

Only Lord Elrond's words had reached him and brought comfort. He called them back to him now and tried to mimic their tone.

"Pippin was last seen with Boromir and Gimli young one," but as Merry's eyes darkened with despair and his chin trembled he continued, "Pippin is strong Merry and Boromir and Gimli will protect him, you know this." He smiled down at the big blue eyes that stared hopefully up at him "Do you think that stiff-necked dwarf will allow a few orcs to overcome him? And Boromir is a fine fighter and has trained you and your cousin well"

Merry's eyes were taking on a dazed expression again and Legolas hoped that this meant the _glaslichen_ was working, he knew that, apart from being a powerful painkiller, it also tended to make the mind wander a little, but realising where Merry's thoughts were right now he welcomed it. He did not want Merry to suffer more than he was already and set about his task of stripping and cleaning the hobbit.

Removing his cloak and putting it to one side for later he stripped off his travel tunic and the soft silver-grey one he wore beneath. Putting the damaged, thick suede outer one back on, ignoring the itch it caused as it rubbed up against healing flesh, he set about tearing the fine light material into strips to reinforce the improvised bandages about Merry's torso.

He kept the two sleeves whole and dunked them into the clean water of the river before setting about wiping the dirt from Merry's face and neck, all the while keeping up an endless stream of low, soothing lullabies that his own dear mother used to sing to him as an elfling.

After divesting the hobbit of his ruined clothing and washing his body as clean as he was able, given that he could not exert much pressure in Merry's fragile state, some particularly stubborn dried on marks still remained. He left the fair curls as they were for fear of Merry loosing too much body heat and causing sickness as Estel had suffered on that hunting trip; that would almost certainly kill Merry. He examined the soiled bandages and saw that there was still a little blood seeping through. The wound was too fresh to be redressed and fresh blood lay atop the old, brought about no doubt by the jostling the elf could not prevent in his haste.

He gently added his new bandages to the old and Merry seemed to ease a little as he laid him back, wrapped in the soft, thick elven cloak with a bed of moss softer than a feather bed to cradle his battered body.

The elf quickly sluiced himself down and washed his hair, all the while his eyes remained fixed on the hobbit bundle, alert for any sign of distress or movement, at the same time he threw his senses open again for signs of danger, but though the trees whispered of _yrch_ in the forest, they were far away and not moving in their direction.

He took the opportunity to wash his clothes enough to make them a little more comfortable to travel in and put them back on wet. They were fit to burn but they would have to serve him a little longer, Merry's clothes fell apart as he used sand from the bottom of the riverbed to try and scrub the filth from them. The blood of _yrch_ seemed to have an acidic quality to it he had not observed before, but then again he did not keep clothes this badly worn under normal circumstances.

Another problem to solve, he guessed that perhaps it was for the best, his cloak was warm, dry, and relatively clean and would meet Merry's needs.

As he seated himself next to the hobbit he ran his fingers through his hair and began to separate the fine strands and weave the braids customary with warriors of Mirkwood, all the while watching the hobbit.

His skin was pale, cold and clammy to the touch, all the telltale signs of internal as well as external bleeding glared out at him, and as he pressed his fingers to the side of his neck the pulse was weak but very fast as his body fought to keep blood circulating. This would not do, he had enough field training to know that he had to ease the pressure on the heart and elevating his legs would do it. So moving from Merry's side he moved down and lifted the hobbit's short legs and slid his own underneath then settled Merry's back across his.

"Mortal Estel it was that first found a home in my heart. And now – now little one you have made it yours too, when did that happen?"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Being carried while his master walked? The sheer impropriety of it rendered Sam speechless. And the idea that **_he_** wasn't up to walking when it was Frodo that was being chased and hunted and hurt and speared? Indignation and affront and humiliation warred within Sam and fought their way past his locked throat, battled for possession of his tongue, and broke free of his mouth in a single inarticulate sound, "_Agggnoooah_!"

Aragorn paid no attention to the protest and swung the hobbit up as if he were a child, as Sam himself used to swing up Master Pippin when he was a little mite! What would his Gaffer say? Aragorn placed him against his chest and Sam's arms locked automatically around the Ranger's neck to steady himself. He resisted the urge to give the Man a good swift kick, and instead gritted his teeth. If his master allowed this, then it wasn't Sam's place to protest. But oh, the unseemliness of it all!

It wasn't like he was that hurt, after all. The cut on his forehead burned something fierce and Sam was willing to admit that the significant amount of blood he had lost might be affecting him, a bit. He hadn't taken that tumble because he was hurt – just because he was tired and trying to see every direction at once, and worried about Mr Frodo.

Serve Aragorn right if Sam was sick on his shoulder, it would. He could always claim he was taken sick so suddenly, he couldn't warn the Man in time. At least that might get him put down and Mr Frodo carried, like he should be. But Mr Frodo would probably see right through him, and Sam didn't want to think about the words he'd be in for, then…

Just as an experiment, Sam looked down at the top of Frodo's dark head, hoping the smooth yet dipping stride of the Man would make him nauseous. What an odd angle. His master certainly needed a good wash. He did, too, truth be told. The black blood that Sam had been unable to wash off was drying and crusting on them both, itching unmercifully. And it stank. He stank and Frodo stank and Aragorn stank, too.

With a sigh, Sam gave up on the being-sick idea. Rather than torture himself with the sight of Frodo struggling along, obviously in pain, he concentrated on staring back over Aragorn's shoulder, trying to see if that nasty creature still flapped after them.

Frodo kept pace with Aragorn as well as he could, but his discomfort was growing with each step. He could feel Sam's eyes on him, and knew he must be smarting with the impropriety of being carried while his master walked. Still, Frodo was relieved that he did not have to worry about Sam falling flat on his stubborn head when he keeled over from exhaustion.

Frodo falling flat on his own stubborn head was a different matter, and might yet happen if they did not reach this spot Aragorn spoke of soon. Almost as much as he looked forward to resting, Frodo was eager to wash in the clean waters. He was coated in vile, black blood, save where the sweat of his exertion cut tiny paths through the grime. He could not wash away this darkest of days, but perhaps the water would refresh him, and ease his heart as well as his body.

Before them, the first line of the forest was within sight. Behind them, the sun stretched out rose-coloured fingers of farewell as she prepared to slip out of sight.

Nightfall was nearly upon them, and the Golden Wood beckoned.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Merry started as he came awake. He felt his heart beating rapidly in his throat and as his eyes sprang open he saw above him again the flowing branches of a willow tree. Where was he? What had happened? He struggled frantically to move away from the tree trunk before it could cut him in two. He knew that was about to happen from the dreadful pain in the upper half of his body. Where was Pippin? He had been lying up against the tree as well, and Sam and Frodo, they had all suddenly become very sleepy and… and…

But surely that was long ago? Tom Bombadil had smacked the tree and made it spit him and Pippin out and the four of them had eaten a wonderful supper at Tom's house and stayed the night.

Merry closed his eyes once more as the dream took him. Water was falling all around him, the large drops splashing and making little pools which were rising higher and spreading out to join up into a large lake leaving him marooned on an island that was his bed. Slowly but persistently the water was seeping into the cot on which he lay, surrounding him and gradually engulfing him so that he would drown. He felt his heart clench with fear and kicked his feet with the hope he could escape the encroaching flood.

But his feet did not splash in the water as he expected but met with warm resistance – another person! Pippin? No it did not feel like Pippin. Where was he?

Then Merry remembered. First the dream; it was the same as that night in the house of Tom Bombadil and he recalled the voice that had calmed him… Goldberry's voice, "Nothing passes doors or windows save moonlight and starlight and the wind off the hill-top." He was not drowning then, he was dreaming still.

But something bad had happened. Pippin? He had lost Pippin. A bolt of panic and pain shot through Merry's heart and lodged in his throat. He came awake now with a rush of fear and adrenaline. He tried to sit up but his body was too weak and would not obey his mind. His mouth opened and he found his voice. "Noooo! Pippin!"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Boromir was of two minds, one to hoist Pippin to the top of the cabinet and, if he could get himself to the same level, to shove the lad through the hole, so badly did he want to get out of this prison; and the other to grab the lad and hold him close and not let him near the danger he knew existed just outside the tiny vent. The hair on the back of Boromir's neck fairly prickled. He stood there for a fraction of a moment longer, staring at the youngling, his hands clenching and unclenching subconsciously.

"Right! Up you go then. Give me a full report when you've got something." And he reached down easily picking up the hobbit who weighed less than Faramir had at age seven. He placed Peregrin atop the cabinet and silently stood waiting for the next move. The hole to the vent looked too high above the hobbit's head for him to easily reach but then these creatures, he'd discovered were full of surprises. He was beginning to think that if Peregrin suddenly grew frog toes, it would not shock him.

Pippin took a few steps across the top of the solidly built cabinet and over to the wall, pressing his forehead for just a few moments against the cold, solid stone to keep from getting dizzy. Then, gathering his wits about him, he moved carefully to the edge of the cabinet. He did not look down, but instead at the vent, which was just above him and two feet to the side of the cabinet. Getting in there, over naught but open air was going to be a trick. He debated asking Boromir for the bit of ladder he had left over by the niche with the candles, then thought better of it. He would have to balance rather precariously on it and the ladder had been a questionable thing at best.

Giving the task his complete concentration he pressed his front flush against the wall, reached out to grab the edge of the vent with both hands and kicked off with his feet, scrabbling frantically as he writhed and wriggled into the opening, then managed to pull himself in the rest of the way. He actually seemed to feel the darkness close about him as his body blocked out the dim light from the chamber behind.

For a moment he just lay there panting, collecting himself after this latest effort, but he was too tired to stay still for long. He needed to get moving while the adrenaline lasted or he would fall asleep where he lay. The air that his body now blocked from escaping into the chamber blew in his face and refreshed him, but it made lighting a candle at this point hopeless, and there was no real room to move his arms to do so anyway, so squirming forward on elbows, belly and knees, Pippin crawled deeper into the dark to explore.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Aragorn felt Sam's heartbeat against his chest gradually slowing as the hobbit became less anxious and a little more rested. Aragorn took the opportunity as he was carrying him to glance at the cut on Sam's head and the Ranger knew they must stop soon and tend to him. Frodo's injury was less visible and therefore was even more worrying as it was hard to ascertain how much difficulty he might be in from the damage.

As they moved on past the mere they came to a well of sparkling clear water, like ice to the touch as it bubbled up and over the edge, to trickle and foam into a channel of rock and chatter down the valley.

"This is the spring that is the source of the Silverlode," Aragorn paused and placed Sam carefully on the ground. "We shall come soon to the woodlands where the streamlet will have swollen to feed the Great River." He pointed to the lower lands. "There it runs through the valley and there too lies our path to Lothlórien."

Sam dug his toes into the cool earth gratefully; it was good to be on the ground again. He was surprised to find he was somewhat light headed. That being carried, as if he were a babe, was disorienting. Nothing a good dunking of his head in that streamlet wouldn't take care of right quick, but it didn't look like Aragorn was going to allow them the time.

Aragorn stepped forward and offered his outstretched arms to Frodo, "Come now Master Baggins, it is your turn to take some respite." He turned briefly back to the other hobbit, "Can you manage on your feet a little, Sam? We need to reach the cover of woodland before we may stop for rest."

"I can manage well enough, Sir," Sam replied, refusing to let the Ranger see him sway on his feet. He turned and looked down into the valley. The darkening twilight made estimating distances deceiving, and already a light mist lay over the land. He glanced back at the singing waters with a longing look. Would but five minutes make such a difference? He was filthy and he itched. But before he could say the words, he noticed Frodo backing away from Aragorn's offered arms.

Anticipating trouble from Frodo, Sam mentally prepared his arguments. Turnabout's fair play,' he readied himself to say. Not to suggest that Mr Frodo sometimes didn't know what was good for him – of course not. But now and then Mr Frodo needed the obvious pointed out to him. If he had his nose in a book, you never knew what might happen. Walk off a cliff, he would, and never notice until he hit bottom. Looking at his pale, exhausted master, Sam hoped that Frodo would be reasonable for once.

But before Frodo could protest Aragorn swept him off his feet and held him against his strong chest as though he were but a child. "No arguments." He declared firmly.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

When Merry woke it was from a dreamless sleep, as if he were waking from the grave itself. He had no recollection of time having passed and no sense of where he was or why. His body was crushed tightly to someone, as if he were tied to them and he could feel an arm holding him, rubbing his back. Had he been stolen away?

No – slowly the nightmare memory drifted back. He was hurt and being carried by Legolas, the pain in his chest confirmed what he recalled. Pippin was lost, Frodo and Sam were left behind and he was hanging on to his life by a thread. This was not what he had expected to happen when he and Pip had promised Frodo that they would stick by him through thick and thin, nor was it what he envisioned when they defied Lord Elrond and claimed their place at their cousin's side.

Merry felt the bitter taste of defeat in his heart. It was sickening, like bile and his gut turned over at the thought of how wrong everything had gone. That he, of all the hobbits had failed, had dropped his sword, had lost Pip and been no help to Frodo, possibly even endangering the Ring-bearer by his ineptitude.

Merry struggled against the bindings that held him firmly to the elf's chest. He tried to push away with his fists, but there was no strength in his arms and Legolas seemed not to even notice. Merry wanted him to stop. There was no point in wasting time in trying to save him, better for the elf to go back and try to find Pippin or to help Frodo and Sam.

His arms would not work but his voice might. Merry felt tears welling up in his throat as he cried out, the pain building with each sound he uttered. "No! Put me down! Please find Pippin! No! No! Stop! Pippin! Pippin!" The litany of words jumbled over and over as Merry sobbed loudly for the elf and the pain to leave him.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Boromir was thankful that Gimli was sound asleep so as not to bear witness to the sweat pouring down his face as he watched the halfling nearly lose his balance. He did not wish to appear untrusting but he also wanted to ensure the success of this latest adventure. Having the hobbit crash to the ground would do none of them any good. He quietly moved under the vent as Peregrin scrabbled for purchase on the stone. Boromir's breath caught as Peregrin's feet left the cabinet and there was a moment of panic, for both him and the hobbit, he was sure. Unconsciously, Boromir's hands reached up, ready to catch the hobbit should he not be able to pull himself in. What he received as a reward was a face full of dirt and tiny pebbles and Peregrin managed to scramble and pull himself inside the hole.

Too late to do any good, Boromir thought that he should have tied a rope about Peregrin so the lad would have a way to find his way back if he should lose himself in a warren of tunnels. The man had no idea how extensive the venting was in these Mines. He was not at all familiar with delving. He thought about waking Gimli, but as he looked over at the dwarf softly snoring, he did not have the heart. Perhaps he should tie up a makeshift rope from the remains of his under tunic and toss it up to the lad. No, there was not enough of it left to make a rope of any length and it was too late now.

"Have a care lad, I've not …" but he stopped himself abruptly before he blurted out the last of his jest, _another hobbit to spare'_. "I've no means of retrieving you should you get lost up there". He reflexively wiped the fronts and the backs of his hands down the length of his thighs trying to remove some of the grime and then he wiped the sweat from his brow. Looking at the mess he wiped his hand again on his tunic and went to fetch a waterskin. He might as well do something useful while he sat there anxiously waiting for Pippin to return.

Pippin scrabbled forward into the dark as quickly as he could. He knew he was tearing his skin on the rough surface but didn't think on it particularly – what were a few more cuts and scrapes at this point after all. He hadn't gone very far when the vent began to slope sharply downward and Pip slowed not wanting to slide anywhere even tighter from which he might not be able to extricate himself and where he would be out of reach of any aid. He was utterly alone, and terrified.

He had told Boromir that hobbits did not mind holes but that had been a small piece of misdirection as this was certainly not the kind of hole that would have made any hobbit feel at home and in fact Pippin was finding it hard not to panic. The dark and the weight of the mountain bearing down upon him and pressing all around him with only an inch or so to spare was terrifying. For once Pippin was grateful that he was so small; even Frodo, who was slight for a hobbit, would not have been able to crawl through this tiny space. Pippin didn't even want to think how he was going to get back out if he couldn't find a place to turn around. Going forward was difficult enough, trying to push himself backward and uphill would be nigh on impossible.

Scarcely had he had the thought when his fingers and then his forehead bumped smartly into a solid surface in front of him. The tunnel stopped! He couldn't go forward, he couldn't go back, he could barely move, no one could reach him, he would die here, slowly and all alone! The waves of fear at being trapped rolled over him and he had to fight not to start clawing hysterically at the unyielding rock and injuring himself.

He squeezed his eyes shut and a few tears of pure terror escaped them, and he became aware that he was shaking and hyperventilating.

He forced himself to calm down, and take slow, deep breaths of the cool, fresh air...fresh air...silly hobbit! The air had to be coming from somewhere...there, from his left. He managed to grope out with his left hand and found an opening! He sobbed in relief. And on the left. That was good, the door in the chamber was to the left of the vent. Unable to turn and investigate properly he felt around the opening. The roof seemed to be even lower than the bit of tunnel he was in, the width was about the same, but he couldn't feel a floor. It felt as though there was a drop. This was going to be fun. Well, nowhere else to go... he managed to squirm so that he was tilted head first into the hole, ignoring the sounds of ripping cloth and feeling one of his braces come undone, and the burn of losing more skin, and was feeling around for a floor when he lost his balance and fell in.

He landed on his head...fortunately, as Merry would have teased, and muttering some choice words that he had learned from Merry but would nevertheless have had his cousin scolding him for using, he picked himself up, rubbing his forehead. Only then did he realise that he was standing upright. Oh!

Back beside the cabinet Boromir was standing now and pacing, the time seemed to be moving so slowly, until at last his anxiety and patience exploded, "Peregrin? Lad? You're awfully quiet up there! You haven't fallen asleep now have you? PIPPIN?"

"I'm sorry!" The hobbit responded, automatically apologising for his improper language, then realised that it was Boromir, and he couldn't possibly have heard him sounding off like a surly stable hand. His friend sounded worried and probably just wanted to know if all was well. Turning toward the faint sound Pippin was both surprised and delighted to see a small square that was just a bit less dark than the surrounding space, and only a couple of feet off the ground. Still rubbing the rising lump on his forehead from his two mishaps Pippin stuck his head in a little way and called back, "I'm fine Boromir!"

Then he dug out one of the candles and his matches. Luckily in this more open space the draft was not as bad and Pippin soon had the candle lit and was rewarded for his pains when he found himself standing before what must be the other side of the door. It seemed to be a fairly straightforward affair, hinged on one side, with a big iron ring as a handle and sealed only with a simple iron latch, as anyone coming from this direction was undoubtedly a friend, and possibly even a dwarf child.

Pippin however was no dwarf child and for all his attempts to push the latch upward he could lift it no more than the slightest fraction. Now that he had come this far though Pippin refused to be discouraged. If he brought one end of the rope back here and tied it around the latch Boromir or Gimli would be able to pull it up and then he could turn the handle and open the door the rest of the way. The rope would be long enough certainly; he had been so frightened on his way in, not knowing where he was going, that he had felt the distance was much greater than it surely was or he would not have heard Boromir and been able to see the dim outline of the vent.

Feeling real hope now he found a good spot to stick his candle for his next trip, blew it out, and pulled himself back into the little vent, managing to pull himself in and then upwards without too much difficulty as he was facing forward. And desire to reach the light before him certainly sped his progress, as well as knowing that Boromir and Gimli were waiting for him and any news he could bring them of the possibility of escape.

Less than half an hour after starting out on his expedition Pippin stuck his head back through the opening and announced cheerfully, "Well, I'm back."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Frodo began to object as Aragorn lifted him like a child, but then he looked down into Sam's stubborn face. The younger hobbit was swaying a bit on his feet, but every line of his body screamed that he was not going to stand for Frodo walking another step. And it did feel so nice to rest his head on Aragorn's shoulder, to let his sore feet dangle, to concentrate on breathing as carefully as possible, and therefore minimize the growing pain. Frodo was beginning to suspect that the mithril coat had cut through the leather jerkin and into his skin, but in addition to the deeper ache from the blow itself, he was feeling numerous, smaller twinges across his chest.

Frodo sighed and closed his eyes. He thought with longing about his feather beds at Bag End, no doubt inhabited at that very moment by Lobelia and Lotho. He remembered long-ago mornings when his cousins would visit Hobbiton. Merry had his own room, across the hall from Frodo's, but Pippin always insisted on sleeping in Frodo's bed, considering it a great treat. Come morning, Merry was usually found in Frodo's bed with the other two lads, and they would play peek-a-boo with the counterpane until little Pippin squealed with happiness. Then Bilbo would pop open the door and say, "Frodo! My dear lad, are you under attack from goblins? No? No goblins here? Then you lads had best get to the kitchen – the smell of bacon may have drawn them there and there will be none left for you."

There was never, of course, a shortage of bacon at Bag End. As he drifted in a daze on Aragorn's shoulder, Frodo was only dimly aware that tears were slipping from his eyes, remembering happy mornings with the two little cousins he most likely would never speak to again.

Carrying first Sam, and then Frodo, made Aragorn aware of how very weary he was. He had carried the hobbits before, two at a time on Caradhras, and had felt their weight but little. Now, however, even the Ring-bearer's slight frame was an added burden. He himself was not hurt, but he desperately needed rest, and how these small ones, thus injured, could continue moving forward was a wonder.

As he ran, he listened, and sniffed, and felt the world around him with all of the skills he had as a Ranger. He felt nothing; heard nothing other than his own ragged breathing and the stumbling footfalls of Samwise just behind him. It seemed they were safe from the Moria filth. But still he wished that Legolas were with them. As keen as his own senses were, the elf possessed the keener, and if orcs were to come upon the three travellers unaware...

Suddenly Aragorn did hear something, not from behind, but ahead and a little to the right. A crack, as if a heavy stone had fallen upon stone. He halted, standing still, and listened.

"Uughh!" Sam grunted involuntarily when the tall Ranger pulled to a stop. Couldn't he warn a body? Only hobbit-agility allowed Sam to skid to a halt and avoid crashing into the Man. Most likely knocking him to the ground and crushing his master, Sam thought darkly. His annoyance further aggravated by the awareness that he was puffing indecently, Sam glared up at the Man, waiting for an explanation.

He didn't get one. Aragorn stood silent, listening from the abstract look on his face. A sudden fear shot through Sam and he swallowed his indignation. He glanced about them, pointed ears straining. He didn't know which he feared to hear the most; the snarling battle-cries of the orcs they had left behind, or the soft hiss and the flapping feet that he thought he had heard earlier.

His head rotated sharply to the right. Something heavy over there, and no mistake. A snap, or a crack, then another sound that he couldn't identify. Sam's hand eased itself to his scabbard and he loosened the blade in its sheath. Fatigue and pain were washed away in a sudden surge of terror. And surprisingly, rage. Hadn't they been through enough this day? They were hurt and exhausted and had lost their guide and friends dearer than kin. Wasn't it enough for one day?

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Legolas was making good progress and had stealthily been on the move for some time when the little one began to stir, but before he could find a sheltered safe place to stop, Merry let forth a shout that echoed through the forest's silence and caused the elf to wince as his sensitive ears protested the assault.

"Easy little one, shuuuu, shuuu, you must be silent it is not safe!"

But Merry could not be silenced. The fine downy hair on the back of his neck stood up and he realised with a start that since they had stopped the woods had gone quiet. No birds called to their mates, no rabbits grazed, nothing. Even the trees had grown silent.

Merry moaned again and the sound was only half smothered by the fabric of his tunic, but Legolas clearly made out the name Pippin, the hobbit's love and devotion to his cousin's well-being was heart-warming, but left him with no peace and the elf could not give him the false promises he needed to hear, instead he offered the only thing he could, hope.

He began to stroke through Merry's curls and caress his pale face as he crouched under a bush, using it to hide them from unwelcome eyes, all the while watching and waiting for the unknown danger to pass. Whatever disturbed the forest was neither orc nor Uruk but as the moonlight broke through the shadow, illuminating the undergrowth in front of them, something began to stir, something large hid within those depths, but had obviously decided it was not staying there.

Although Merry was still wracked with pain and sorrow, his sobs subsided a little under Legolas's calming hands. The hobbit had gained some sense back and realised that his distress was probably endangering them both. He tried to breathe deeply and stifle his cries, burying his face in the elf's tunic and chewing the side of his mouth, his lip was too sore to even lick at and Merry was vaguely aware that he had accidentally bitten it earlier.

Legolas froze, unconsciously clutching Merry closer to him and silently drawing one of his bone-handled scimitars, all the while his mind whirled with possible escape routes, noting the dense undergrowth and how he would be able to negotiate it at speed, the trees would normally have been his first and preferred option, but they were out of the question while Merry remained so fragile. All these thoughts flitted through his mind in less than a second as he narrowed his eyes and watched a dark furred shape emerge from the undergrowth.

It was a warg! He was surprised for he did not think that they hunted this far north, it seemed to be alone and injured from the way it favoured its right hind leg.

'It will surely smell the little one's blood if it has not already!' His mind whirled, not even an elf could outrun a warg, especially so in dense undergrowth. Just as this thought finished, the great beast's head swung round and focused in their direction, it felt to the elf as if the beast's gaze could physically strip away their cover. It let loose a low throaty growl and started forward, head low and shoulders bunched, limp now forgotten as it stalked toward the bush.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Shall we get It now?"

"Nooo! Not now my Precious, there's still the croo-el big man with hissh sharp, ssharp blade. He kills uss and we never gets It, never! Poor Sméagol.

"Take It! Get It now! There's only the fat, stupid hobbit and the thin little hobbit. He keeps It from uss! We tears his skinny throats out – waits till the big man sleeps, everybodies sleeps sometimes. Then we bite the hobbitsess necks out. Grrrr! Like a wriggling fishies he'll struggle!

"But big man not sleepsing now. Running and running, stupid man. But we needs It. We got to gets It if we can. It's only a little hobbitsess! Not the fat one, the other one – thin like a twig. Did he steals It Precious? Did he?

"Sméagol iss hungry now. No food for poor Sméagol. Too much running for hunting and Sméagol gets no fish and gets no rabbits. And when the stupid hobbitsess stops they make the nassty red tongues, they makes the fire! It's dangerous, yes it is! It burns, it kills and it hurts poor Sméagol.

"We got to jump at them now, while the man is running with his hobbitsess.

"Nooo! Not uss Precious. We will be hurt! Sméagol iss more clever than that. Sméagol can run lighter than the clumsy, big Man. We makes him come after uss. Come after uss into the fools' sand. He thinks it solid but he sink and sink. Then the little hobbitsess be all alone! Then Sméagol can bite their throats. Then we can gets It!"

Gollum paused. He sniffed the air. The three fugitives were running towards him now from where he had circled round. He stepped out into their sight and started towards them with a threatening growl. Deftly he moved back, dancing across the quicksand and waiting for the stupid man to follow.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Though it had in reality been but a few moments, Boromir had begun to sweat in earnest. He worried mightily about Peregrin. The lad might THINK he was an adult. Yet disregarding his small stature, the lad had proved himself over and over this day; still Boromir worried. Is this what it felt like to see your child strike out on his own? Is this what his own father felt when he sent his eldest on a mission from which he might not return while he sent his youngest to patrol the edges of the Kingdom their family had guarded for generations? He was not so sure he wanted children now, not that he'd thought much on it. At least not more than the passing thought of what he'd do if one of the doxies with whom he'd played with so naively in his VERY younger days suddenly presented him with parenthood.

Some of the lads he'd led into previous battles had been young, barely with beard. Though he wept silently at their deaths and grieved even more for the loss of innocence, he'd yet to feel this panic. Why did he feel so overwhelmingly ill at ease just now? He'd heard the old Wizard talk to the elf about how hobbits had a way of getting under your skin. How they "grew" on you until you yearned to make a trip, travel a great distance, put aside important studies, just to sit and chat and smoke a pipe.

Boromir sat on his heels musing, hands and face clean, at least as far as plain water could manage, his sword and shield wiped down and stored. He'd begun to pick at some dried blood on his hem and thought briefly about cleaning Gimli's axes when a cheerful greeting caused him to fall back flat on his arse.

"Well, I'm back." Peregrin's voice seemed loud and out of place especially because he was so damned cheerful.

Boromir fairly leapt up, knocking over the waterskin and his pack. "It's about time, Peregrin! What ever were you doing? I believe I've aged 5 years waiting for you!" The relief in his voice was evident and even a small child would not mistake the chiding for anything earnest. In fact, a small child would probably be able to see through the gruff retort and know it for what it was – gratitude that the wanderer had returned.

"What news from the front, oh almost Elven scout?" Boromir realised he sounded a bit harsh and changed his tone to better reflect his appreciation for the effort his lad had just accomplished. "I've more fresh water and I've found something for you to eat. So come down and give me your report while you clean up and have a bite".

Pippin was a bit taken aback at the depth of Boromir's obvious concern. He hadn't been gone that long, he didn't think, but Boromir sounded at first just like Cousin Bilbo and Frodo, the time he had braved the cellars of Bag End when he was a lad of about six. He had dared to venture into the darkness in search of hidden treasure and fallen asleep behind the wine barrels, scaring them out of their wits...and then Boromir had sounded like Merry had, after he'd been found several hours later, asking with appropriate seriousness if his quest had been a success. He felt his heart swell that Boromir obviously cared so much for him and was glad that he had good news to report. But how was he to get down? Boromir was standing under the vent, a good long way down to Pippin's mind, looking as though he meant to catch him, but just the same....

Taking a deep breath Pippin manoeuvred himself rather awkwardly so that he could slither out of the hole and a short but scary drop later found himself in Boromir's strong arms, the man catching him easily enough as the lad slid and slipped from the vent. Boromir set Peregrin down quickly, mindful of the fact the lad hated to be thought of as a child to be toted about.

Pippin sat down abruptly before he could fall down, scraped legs and arms trembling with exhaustion, and began to tell Boromir about the tunnel as he washed himself off.

His voice was a little tremulous when he got to the point in his report about coming upon what he had thought was the dead end, then he explained about how he had found the door, and what they would have to do to open it. He took a long drink of water to steady his voice which for some reason was starting to crack when he spoke then continued. "...so you or Gimli can raise the latch by pulling on the rope and I will turn the handle and open the door."

He didn't really mind going back in the tunnel now that he knew what was what, so why was he suddenly shaking all over? They were going to get out now, the worst was behind them... but what about Merry? Merry was still gone, still dead, and who knew what... and Pippin would have to leave him behind for good in all but memory. And Gandalf, but Gandalf hadn't been... out there – out there with the orcs. And for all Pippin loved Gandalf, he was not Merry.

Pippin's breath started to hitch. He tried to look away so that Boromir did not notice that he suddenly wasn't feeling so well, and his eyes fell upon the chunk of bread and dried apple rings that his friend had set out on a spread cloth for him. He couldn't eat, though he knew he should. Boromir was probably hungry too. Pippin pulled on the corner of the cloth just a bit and said in a voice that didn't even sound like his, "Thank you for this Boromir but I can't eat. Why don't you have this?" He tried to smile but that was just as shaky as the rest of him and he looked at Boromir in utter misery, not knowing what to do.

_'But oh',_ Boromir thought, _'his lad looked terrible!'_ Much worse than when he'd gone in, though he was in sad shape before. Fresh blood, a huge knot rising on his forehead, and one of his braces torn, attested to a rough passage.

Boromir dared to kneel in front of the shaking hobbit. He was beginning think this one would go to hysteria, and who could blame him - it had been a grim day. He reached out tentatively after Peregrin had sipped more water and then pulled back as the youngling began to ramble.

Peregrin's breath caught and broke several times as the expected collapse started. When he refused the food in a quavering voice that cut to the quick Boromir knew the time had come.

He reached out and patted the lad on the shoulder in as much a companionable manner as he could muster and announced in his best imitation of hobbit cheerfulness, "Well done, lad. You've done a grand job. Now, here, what's this about no food? Let's get you washed with a bit more to drink, eh? You'll be feeling better in no time." He was surprised but not upset at what Peregrin, his bravehearted lad, did next.

Pippin didn't know what he had been saying but he knew that he had not been himself for the past few moments – he had felt so odd, and suddenly he could bear his grief no longer. He was still shaking and he wanted Merry so badly. Merry was gone though and most likely dead, but Boromir was here. He looked calmly at the Gondorian soldier, then, grief stricken and exhausted, Pippin climbed carefully into his friend's lap and finally allowed himself to cry for those he had lost. Curled up and sobbing quietly but bitterly he leaned against Boromir's comforting chest and let his tears fall for what seemed forever, but he could never shed enough tears for his Merry. When he could finally compose himself a little he looked up into the man's kind face.

"I am sorry for crying like a child Boromir, and I didn't mean to let you down but I was just so tired that I couldn't stand it any more and I am sad for Gandalf and I want Merry, but they are dead and I hurt so much inside I don't know what to do to make it stop." He said quietly, still sniffling. He leaned back into Boromir a bit more and looked down at his hands.

"And what makes Merry being dead even worse is that I couldn't help him, I helped Frodo instead...I heard him scream but I had to help Frodo first because he had the Ring so I had to help him get away and then I couldn't get to Merry. I had to choose. I know Merry would understand but it hurts so… so… very… "

He took a shuddering breath. "I love Frodo too, but maybe if I hadn't helped him I could have saved my Merry somehow and he wouldn't be dead now, and the orcs wouldn't have taken his body away. I know the stories as well as anyone." He fought not to start to cry again at the thought.

"I know what orcs do with bodies Boromir, and so do you so don't say it isn't true. Merry is dead and that is awful enough... but... but... I couldn't even see that he was buried properly, I had to just leave him lying for the orcs to take."

He looked up again at his friend. "How can I bear that? He took care of me my whole life and was my best friend in all the world and now he is gone forever and I let the orcs take his body away like he wasn't anything to me but he was everything. I couldn't help it I don't think, but maybe if I had done something differently... " He choked again on a sob and fought back more recriminations.

"At least Frodo got out. At least it wasn't for nothing."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

To Be Continued

Character Notes (must remember not to call them Author's Notes – Ll.)

Sam here, friends.

What with Mr. Frodo and Mr. Merry and Master Pip being so involved in sending off them legal letters to each other ("Behind the Scenes at the East Gate, Scandals, Secrets and Sex Laid Bare"), I thought I'd leave them to it and reply to a few comments you had about our story.

**Pip4**: Now they can eventually catch up with the others and everyone can be a little happier given the circumstances.   
**Sam**: It would be nice to think so. It really would.

**Elanor1013**: Is anyone going to get reunited any time soon?   
**Sam**: I wish I could answer that, miss. Will you settle for a "yes," followed by "but not how you think?"

**Hyperactive Forever:** Frodo? FRODO MUST DIE! no offence, frodo-loving people, but i do not like him and HE MUST BE TERMINATED chases frodo into the distance well, things seem to be getting better (i hope ) and thats good! oh, i can't wait for the next chapter!   
**Sam**: Gracious, you sound like Master Pippin after a sugar binge. Meanin' no disrespect, of course. Can't agree with your comment about my master, meself, but we're glad you like the story.

**Neige**: What I want to know is this: How many nights can Aragorn go without sleep before he keels over?  
**Sam**: Mr. Frodo and I have a side bet going on about that. Personally, I think he takes that macho-Ranger thing a bit too far, sometimes.

**Rosie Cotton**: This is very good! When are they going to tend to Frodo's stomach? I hope very soon!   
**Sam**: (Beautiful name there, lass!) I can tell you that after being with Mr. Frodo for so many years, he only goes so far before he starts digging his heels in. Then it's not a pretty sight.

**Lindahoyland**: I'm a bit puzzled how Pippin could have worn the shirt on Aragorn's birthday as it's not March 1st yet and he didn't know Aragorn the year before.   
**Sam**: Lass, we were too busy running and fighting off orcs and trying to keep ourselves alive to keep the calendar in mind, much. Especially young Master Pippin, who has trouble counting to twenty without his toes. (And I never said that.)   
**Pippin:** Well you see, I had my birthday the day before Weathertop and we were talking about birthday parties. Strider couldn't remember the last time he had actually celebrated his birthday! Well, obviously we hobbits had to do something about that, and March was so far away, that we threw him a surprise party before we left Rivendell. He says that even though his birthday is March 1st from now on he'll celebrate it on December 20th too, and think of us. I wonder if he will give presents both days…?  
**Merry**: Actually Llinos just told me that The Queen of Great Britain has two birthdays! One for personal use and one for special occasions. I suppose that, as Aragorn is a King, he gets two birthdays as well!

**Hobbitsandkilts**: hugs and kisses to all the hobbits – poor Hobbits they need some extra love.   
**Sam**: Never did know a hobbit in his right mind who'd turn down a good hug and kisses, lass. If Mr. Merry's unavailable, I'll take his share. (Um … you are a lass, aren't you?)

**MarySuesREvil**: what are you doing to my poor Boromir? Yes, I openly admit I'm a huge, huge Boromir fan. Come on, let him out of there, let him see the sun again. And by the way, this is one aspect I didn't see much in other stories, the relationship between Boromir and Gimli (another favourite of mine). You did a great job of exploring that.  
**Sam**: Glad you're enjoying the story! I agree that Mr. Boromir and Mr. Gimli don't get their fair share of attention in most stories – just guess that's because we hobbits are so much cuter. And handsomer. And a lot smarter.

**Melilot Hill:** Pippin is so brave. Well, they all are, but I think Pippin is the bravest!   
**Sam**: It would probably do the lad good to hear that, with him having such a hard time of it all. Of course, he'd probably move himself in and you'd never get him off if you show him a little admiration and sympathy (and food).   
**Pippin**: You've made me blush! Thank you! I've never particularly thought that I was very brave. Do you think that because my Merry is dead and can't be the bravest anymore, or did you always think I was the bravest?

**Elwyna**: wonderful as always!   
**Sam**: Thank you, on behalf of all of us. We'd all take a bow, but we're a little busy right now, with the running and hiding and bleeding, an' all.

**GirlofRing**: I know Merry will survive. He has his grandmamma to help him along oh his quest. But Frodo needs a respite too. As well as Sam. Aragorn notices this but, Gollum is right behind them.   
**Sam**: There's nothing like slogging through mud and muck and blood and orcs to make me agree with you that we – all of us – need a respite, lass. Tell that to the fates and fortune and the eight purely evil writers who are putting us through this. I'm going to check my contract with Mr. Frodo – I don't think none o' this is covered.

**Periantari**: omg what a wonderful story you all have written about. omg omg the angst, the lovely wonderfully descriptive flashbacks..i love those Merry and Pippin stories. Frodo! omg i love love love LOVE… There was no going back for the three companions still in the mines – to do so would be suicide. " wow... wonderful just wonderful! and Budgielover writes a very good Sam.. oh poor poor Merry... Wow..this story is great... so much of everything i cannot wait for more =) :D (and i love love the character responses...they're so funny :D) precious story ... :thumbsup: _(review edited to stop writers getting bigheaded. Ll)_  
**Sam**: You quite overwhelm us poor EastGaters! I think Mr. Frodo and me and everyone else owes you quite a thanks for those kind words. Being a part of the East Gate was something special and I'll never forget it.  
**Periantari** - poor Pippin..i am amazed that he is still doing so much for Boromir and Gimli during this time when he sure is grieving for Merry, believing him to be dead...   
**Pippin**: I am trying my hardest, because I want to be the brave hobbit Merry would want me to be. At least I finally got to unburden myself a bit. I don't know how I can go on without my Merry…sob!

**Domstygerr**: OMG! Merry is hurt, Gimli is down. I can't stand it!! Legolas I love you. Boromir and Aragorn are trying to stay strong as well and Frodo and Sam are doing their best to keep up. Glad to know out fellowship is not breaking!  
**Sam**: I think you pretty well summed things up, there. This is a bad spot for all o' us, and no mistake. Makes you wonder about people who'd write all this sorrow and grief, if you ask my opinion. Especially that part about Mr. Merry – had me in tears, it did.   
**Domstygerr**: At least Pip is trying to stay in the best of spirits under these trying circumstances. Love and hugs for Pip!! I do hope everyone gets on the mend soon and we see some light at the end of this tunnel soon!!   
**Pippin**: Thank you, I am trying my hardest though I admit I was in a bad way in this latest chapter and your love and hugs are greatly appreciated. How did you know about that scary tunnel? Have you been reading ahead? What is going to happen?

**Dreamflower**: So **_this_** is what happens when a lot of people write a story together! Amazing! So much action and angst. Poor Merry! And Boromir, Gimli and Pippin are stuck in Moria. Dare I ask are they going to encounter the other member currently stuck in the depths fighting away at a Balrog?   
**Sam**: I can't speak for the others, Miss, but these eight writers seem a bloody-minded lot to me. Like they were just waiting for the opportunity to unleash all that gore and guts. Can't speak for poor Mr. Gandalf either. Last I saw of him, he was falling down a crevasse.

**Shirebound**: I'm getting exhausted right along with Boromir and Pippin! Those two are going to sleep for a week once they get out of there. Run faster, Legolas!   
**Sam**: We hope they do make it out, lass, though of course we don't know. I can't say as a week of Master Pippin sleeping would be unwelcome, though (on my part, anyway). Mr. Merry keeps giving him all these teas to encourage that, but the lad just drinks them down then toddles off to get into something else.

For all of us EastGaters (them that survived, that is), thanks to everyone reading and enjoying this story so much. A huge part of that thanks is due to Marigold and Llinos for editing the story into shape, and to Llinos for whipping it into its final format. And believe me, after travelling with all these folk, trying to make sense out of all that is no easy job.   
Yours faithfully,   
Samwise Gamgee


	7. Trapped and Tracking

The East Gate

Authors The Eastgaters

Cast list  
Frodo – Baylor  
Samwise – Budgielover  
Pippin – Marigold  
Merry – Llinos  
Legolas – Mainframe  
Aragorn – Nilramiel  
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker  
Gimli – Q

Story Editor Llinos  
Beta Marigold

Chapter 7 –Trapped and Tracking

As the beast came closer it became clear to Legolas that there was no hope of fighting off the warg and maintaining his hold on Merry. It was at that point that the elf became aware that Merry was not only conscious but had actually spoken to him. So absorbed was he in trying to maintain silence and formulate an escape plan, whilst at the same moment recalling battle tactics and referencing his past encounters with wargs, that he almost missed the broken, whispered name.

Not daring to look down at his young charge he remained perfectly still as only an elf can and whispered one word, "Warg" just loud enough for Merry's mortal ears to hear before he very slowly, very carefully, reached up and began to deftly un-knot the cloak fastenings that held Merry to him.

As Merry became more coherent so the pain increased until it was a screaming misery that filled every corner of his existence. But still in the distance of his mind he heard Legolas whisper that there was a warg. Even through the mind-numbing pain he sensed the tension of danger in the elf's body and knew that he must be quiet. His eyes filled with tears as he frantically tried to stifle his sobbing breaths.

As the cloak slipped from his shoulder to rest in a heap nearly obscuring the poor hobbit, Legolas allowed Merry's trembling body to slide from his lap until he lay on the ground just in front of him but further under the bush. He blindly rearranged the cloak so that Merry was once again completely covered.

Merry trembled as he felt himself being lowered to the hard ground, he wanted to stay in the safety of the elf's arms. But then as he slid to the cold earth he realised he was naught but a burden to Legolas, that with him hampering the movement of his friend, they would both be killed. He was almost dead anyway, there was no need for Legolas to die too.

Merry whimpered as Legolas withdrew from him and began to reach for his second scimitar, the elf placed his warm hand against the hobbit's sweat-soaked brow and allowed his thumb to lightly stroke over his eyebrow in a soothing gesture before hardening his resolve and drawing his weapon.

Merry still longed for the physical safety of the comforting arms, he did not want to die alone, out on the wold and he whimpered at the sudden isolation. As a hand touched his face and rubbed his eyebrow and Merry longed for the contact to stay, but the hand withdrew and a voice whispered something unintelligible above him.

"Peace tithen muin, I'll not let it pass me. Stay here pen-neth, I'll be back as soon as I can."

By this time the warg had stopped its advance and was heavily scenting the area where the hobbit and elf hid. Legolas pushed forward through the thin foliage and, taking a wide stance, raised his knives at the beast.

Merry through his haze suddenly realised he was alone, dying alone. His darling Pippin was lost and dear Frodo and good old Sam were gone and now Legolas had deserted him, but it was probably for the best, Merry thought. He was only a piece of luggage now and would be the death of everyone in his pathetic state.

But Legolas had said he would return. That would put him back in danger again. They both would perish and then Frodo, the Ring-bearer, the one who truly mattered, would not have the protection of the elf.

"At least I can spare Legolas the encumbrance." Merry whispered to the leaves, "He should not have to worry for my life when it is nearly spent."

Gritting his teeth in agony, Merry reached out his arm to the side and managed to grab hold of a clump of grass. After several false starts, he eventually pulled himself over onto his front and laid still for several moments, breathing raggedly into the wet bracken.

Merry's plan was to try and get far enough away so that Legolas would return and think him taken by wild beasts and dead – indeed that would probably happen one way or another. As he gained a little more strength from his rest, Merry dragged his weight forward, painful inch by painful inch, until he suddenly found he was at the top of a sharp incline. He breathed an agonised sigh of relief as he saw he could just roll himself down the slope and no longed needed to torture his poor wounded chest.

The hobbit realised that the fall would probably jar him enough to finish him off in his present state, but he could not let his friends be endangered because of his failing. "Sorry Pip! Sorry Grandmamma… I'm sorry…" Merry whispered his apologies to the grass and then let himself fall down the hill, rolling over and over, faster and faster, jarring and scraping, falling, falling into the black void beyond.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

As Boromir looked on in concern, Peregrin sat down with a plop and slowly began to crumble. The man automatically catalogued what the hobbit was saying as he watched for the critical break in composure.

It tore at Boromir's heart to listen as incoherency took hold and the Halfling rambled about his cousin being eaten by orcs. If it hadn't been so wrenching, he'd have laughed because Peregrin's descriptions of orc lunches would have been amusing under different circumstances. Yes, the lad was beyond lucidity but he was at a loss as to what to do with a weeping hobbit

Boromir had seen this gentle but heartbreaking anguish before. He'd even had a soldier cling to him in desperation as the young man's world crumbled around him, one of three from a battle where 200 had been sent out. He suspected if Peregrin had been that young man's size and with less of a hobbit's need for touch, that he'd have found himself simply sitting beside this lad, perhaps even consolingly patting a leg. But he'd noted many times in the past, hobbits had a strong need to have contact with others. In an attempt to act the surrogate, Boromir wrapped his arms about the hobbit. The thought of his nurse holding his brother thus years and years ago sprang to his mind. Try as he might to hold steadfast to the fact this was a nearly grown soldier, he couldn't help but start a gentle rocking while Peregrin rattled and wept.

"Boromir, I'm sorry, _hic_…" Pippin managed to splutter between sobs, "S-sorry to cry…"

The Man furrowed his brow and clicked his tongue in response. "Believe me, little one, I would fear greatly had you **_not_** broken down and grieved. It is dangerous not to feel."

Pippin paused for a moment mid-snivel and looked up in surprise. "It is?"

"Yes, it is necessary during the heat of battle to keep your thoughts on your tasks or you life becomes forfeit. But there is a time and a need to say goodbye to your friends and comrades. Gandalf will be sorely missed. As much as I thought him a wagging old greybeard sometimes, still..." Boromir looked away as a telltale prickle in his nose warned of his own tears. "Still, he will be sorely missed." He took a moment to swallow and wipe at his eyes. "But he did not give his life for naught. The others got out, as will we, now that we've got your little bit of information. Here now..." Boromir shifted to let Peregrin settle more comfortably against his chest.

Then something clicked in Boromir's mind causing him to stare down at the bundle in his lap. _'Merry', 'stories', 'body' 'eaten' _... oh, no! Pippin thought his cousin orc food! A vicious image popped up, of Meriadoc's body flailing in a mass of hideous maws and claws, flesh being ripped from bone while the lad screamed in agony. The beasts were eating him piece by piece and he was not dead! Boromir gasped and opened eyes he had not realised he'd closed. That was what Pippin had thought had happened to his cousin? Clutching his charge tightly and burying his face in the lad's hair, he found himself crying as well. "He is not dead. He is not dead," he whispered feverishly.

A moment only and he'd recovered himself enough to realise he'd nearly squeezed the life out of Peregrin. He loosened his hold and sighed. Calming his breath he hugged the hobbit close again, "I saw Legolas take Merry and bolt for the open door. He would have stayed to protect the others if he knew Meriadoc had not a chance. He would have fought, not fled, if he knew he carried a dead weight." Pippin looked up at him now with a vestige hope in his tear-bruised eyes.

Heartened, Boromir continued, "I saw the others leave safely as well, with Aragorn at the head. No, no, cry not for your kith and kin, they are all safe, of that I am sure. Aragorn and Legolas are strong and experienced. They'll not let our friends die. Peregrin, you did not leave your cousin to become dinner for those foul beasts." He laid his cheek atop Peregrin's head and prayed to his father's god he was right, and that Merry could be saved. "And speaking of dinner, how does roast duckling and pears sound?" Boromir added the last sentence as an afterthought, trying desperately to distract the hobbit in the only way he knew how – food.

Although Pippin wanted so desperately for Boromir and Gimli to be able to depend on him in the situation that they were in, it was such a relief to cry at last and Boromir seemed to understand. And then when Boromir spoke of Merry and the others, it was as if a weight had been eased that had been crushing him. He felt utterly drained at this moment of any happiness in being alive but there were some things now that he could cling to so that he could at least go on. "Did you really see that Boromir? Was Merry alive?"

"I saw Legolas carry him forth and run from the battle with him," Boromir could see clearly the logic, "He would not have done so if Merry were without chance."

Pippin at last allowed himself to believe what he had heard, he began sobbing in earnest even harder than before, this time in pure joy. He had been badly hurt, but Merry was alive! There had been so much blood where Merry had lain, but was there more than when Berilac had cut him with the scythe? Pippin couldn't remember, it was so long ago, but he didn't think so. Merry had lived through that and with Aragorn to care for him this time...

"Oh...oh..." For a long moment he could not speak and just nestled in the comfort of Boromir's arms, drinking in his words. Then with just the faintest hint of a grin he whispered, "With roast potatoes, and peas and mushrooms in cream sauce." He looked up at Boromir and felt himself smile when he thought he might never smile again. "But for now I suppose we will just have to be content with stale bread and dried apples."

"Ach! I thought I had at least **_some_** fresh meat here!" Boromir mocked and sighed heavily, smiling down at his charge. "Alas, bread and fruit it is then. And you are to wash them hands o' yours, Master Pippin!" Boromir did the best imitation of Samwise he could manage.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam's head rotated sharply to the right. Something heavy moving over there, and no mistake. A snap, or a crack, then another sound that he couldn't identify. His hand eased itself to his scabbard and he loosened the blade in its sheath. Fatigue and pain were washed away in a sudden surge of terror and surprisingly, rage. Hadn't they been through enough this day? They were hurt and exhausted and had lost their guide and friends dearer than kin. Wasn't it enough for one day?

At the second sound Aragorn silently lowered Frodo to the ground beside Sam. Raising one hand to indicate silence to the hobbits, he turned his head slightly, listening and smelling the air. Just at the threshold of his hearing, he caught it – a long venomous hiss.

Gollum! It had to be the troublesome brute. Aragorn felt a shudder of disgust. He had hunted the creature before, endured its talk, and he had no desire to lay eyes on it ever again. Better than orcs, perhaps, but not much better, weary and wounded as they were. It had followed them in the mines, and how it had managed to escape the carnage at the gate, Aragorn could not imagine, but he had no doubts now that what Sam had heard flapping behind them was the cursed little wretch.

He turned to the two hobbits. "Something is up ahead. It may be Gollum, or something worse, but I think it would be wisest to confront it, rather than pass it by and have it come upon us from behind. Follow me, stay close, and keep your sword to hand and ready. If our luck holds, you will not need to fight." The Ranger turned and moved directly towards the source of the sound.

Frodo drew Sting and carefully followed Aragorn, fatigue and injury forgotten in the sudden surge of adrenaline that comes from being hunted. Gollum! He was surprised at the emotions that name aroused in him – revulsion, anger, fear. Gandalf had said his was a sad story, but at the moment, Frodo had no time to contemplate the pathos of the nasty creature's life, no sympathy left for any but his own Company. Pity may have stayed Bilbo's hand, but at that moment, Frodo felt certain it would not stay his.

As he picked his way after the Ranger, silent as only a hobbit intent on being silent can be, Frodo noticed that the ground here was strange. There were patches of what almost seemed to be sand along the banks of the stream, some with straggly grasses attempting to grow from them, and others barren. He dodged them, cooling his weary feet on soft grass whenever he could.

Up ahead, Frodo heard another soft hiss. Gollum must have realised they tracked him, he thought. He agreed with Aragorn – best to catch the creature now, and not worry about cold fingers around their necks in the night. They were approaching Lórien; perhaps the elves there would be willing to take him into custody, if they took him alive. Frodo pointedly did not think about the poor luck of the Mirkwood elves in keeping detention of the same prisoner. He was slippery, no doubt, but it was either capture him or kill him. However they dealt with him, Frodo wanted it to happen soon.

Somewhere up ahead, if Merry still lived, he was in pain, and without his kin. Even more than he longed for rest and respite, Frodo ached to be at Merry's side, even if it was for his last moments. That, more than anything, kept him moving doggedly forward.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The warg, not expecting to see such large prey, paused in its attack and moved back trying to circle the elf while it reassessed its tactics. It had been injured three months before by tall ones and the injury had left a weakness that had almost caused its death several times during the hunt.

Drawing back its lips revealing a row of yellowing sharp teeth, nearly a finger long by the elf's reckoning, the warg allowed another growl to trickle from its throat, this one more threatening than the last.

Legolas quickly realised that there was too little room to manoeuvre and decided to draw the animal away from the perian, after all who knew what else lurked in the forest's depths and would be drawn by the sound of battle and the scent of blood. This decided, he quickly put his plan into action, his Ada had told him once long ago, before he had even reached his thirtieth birthday, whilst out on his first hunting trip, that if you ever ran from a predator they would take it as a sign of weakness. This information Legolas was counting on.

He stabbed at the warg and as it leapt out of reach he deliberately showed it his back and fled through the trees opposite. With a howl of rage the warg followed and the hunt was on.

It felt strange, he reflected, to be parted from the hobbit; his arms seemed strangely light as if missing the hobbit's now customary weight.

An unexpected surge of anger burned up from his stomach in waves. The warg behind him seemed to sense the change in the prey's mood but sped up as much as its injured hind leg would allow, scenting the air for a clue that his eyes and ears could not discern.

Legolas allowed his anger to build and wash through him lending him strength and taking with it his uncertainty, his pain, his grief, his cares. This creature delayed Merry's aid and it was from this thought alone that this emotion blossomed.

He broke through into a clearing large enough to manoeuvre with ease and spun to face the animal, eyes narrowed and blood singing in anticipation of the fight, Legolas rushed the warg.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Gimli woke to darkness, pain, and quiet, anguished voices. He remained motionless, trying to orient himself: Where was he? Who was with him? Those weren't dwarf voices, nor were they speaking Khuzdul but Westron, and each with different accents.

Slowly the voices grew clearer, and he identified them: Boromir's soothing baritone, and Pippin's lilting tenor.

And Pippin was weeping softly, Boromir comforting him.

Now Gimli knew where he was, in Khazad-dûm, not far from the East Gate, trapped. He had failed his comrades, and was listening to them as they mourned the loss of their fallen friends. He remained motionless, remembering the antics of Merry and Pippin, how Boromir had spent time training them in swordplay. Gimli had not made the effort to teach them knife-work or bothered to recount to them the tales and mysteries of Khazad-dûm. He had failed in so many ways.

And they had lost Gandalf, his father's old friend and an infrequent but welcome guest in his country. How could Gimli face his father and king or the old hobbit Bilbo, so beloved of Gloin? Gimli himself had argued for this route, in the hopes of impressing his companions with Balin's welcome.

But instead of a welcome he had brought them to ruin.

Gimli swallowed, deeply affected by the voices behind him. Pippin, in particular, had evoked in him the same feelings that the rare young dwarf could. Dwarves lived long but reproduced infrequently; all youngsters were thus a treasure, to be carefully taught and helped at every step. He had shirked his duty, allowing his stiff-necked pride to notice only the differences between himself and the hobbits, rather than the similarities. He had chosen not to remember his father's long affection for Bilbo, finding it odd and un-Dwarvish.

Yet now he understood. Hobbits, or at least these hobbits, had grown dear to him without him fully realizing how dear. And now three of them were missing, possibly dead, and the Quest might be in ruins. '_Why, we might be the only survivors!'_ he thought in a sudden panic, and reached for his axe, trying to sit up.

The pain washed over him as sharp as a knife, as bitter as his realization of letting these good folk down. His head fell back onto the stony floor, the room swam, and his spirit fled. Gimli! he heard his father scold him. Why have you come back? You have been appointed a task worthy of Durin himself. I expect more of you.

"So do I, Father," he murmured, "so do I!"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"They follows us my Precious, yess follows poor Sméagol! Wants to catch uss and then what will they do to us? Hurts uss with the nassty cruel steel. But Sméagol knows the way, yess we does Precious, we knows where to puts our feets. They don't know, they step in the fool's sand!

Aragorn trotted lightly after the sound, the hobbits close behind him, as he ran, he scanned ahead continuously. Sam drew his sword and angled his ears towards the hiss, but it was not repeated. The Ranger had excellent hearing, Sam knew, but he rather thought hobbits had better. Had Strider heard those sibilant whispers, and that almost inaudible shuffling, which had ceased now? He closed his eyes and listened intently, but could hear nothing more.

"Man follows uss and the hobbitses wait for him. But he won't come back. Lo lo lo! Ha he hi! Grsshh!

Frodo, too, paused for a moment to turn his head towards a nearly unheard hiss. He frowned. Something was wrong here. Why did Gollum not flee, and come back later and follow their tracks, after dark, or at least until he was assured they were no longer actively hunting him.

Gollum stopped suddenly in the tracks of his weaving, dancing route, moving anxiously from one foot to the other, uncertain of what to do. "Noo not the skin and boneses hobbit! He hass the Precious! It will sink… sink in the fool's sand. The stupid hobbit will drown and take the Precious with him!" He had wanted the Ranger to follow him so that he could attack the hobbits; he had not expected the hobbits to walk into the same trap.

With a glance at his master, Sam fell into line at Frodo's back. That nasty creature would have to come through Aragorn and him both to get at Mr Frodo. Tired as he was, exhausted almost beyond endurance, Sam was surprised to feel such willingness in himself to engage the slinking shadow or, more accurately, to put an end to the thing.

Forcing his sore feet to walk with hobbit-stealth, Samwise was shocked to feel such bloodlust. He was a giver of life, not an ender of it. But he would kill that Gollum-thing, and gladly. After all he had seen and felt and experienced this horrible day, he would welcome the chance to make the world a slightly cleaner place by ending that foul creature.

Frodo halted again, the creature had to be aware that they were following him, yet he lingered near enough that the hobbits, at least, could still discern his foul breaths. Could the pull of the Ring be so great that Gollum was unable to even hide himself properly, or flee from an oncoming foe? Frodo stopped, turning his head slowly as he studied the ground. Where was the creature leading them? Something was wrong here…

"Aragorn, wait!" he called suddenly. "He leads us somewhere! This is some kind of trick!"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Legolas rushed the warg. But he never reached it. The creature fell dead even as Legolas, knives in hand, surged forward. A long arrow had caught it through the neck.  
  
Seconds later, several tall, regal golden-haired elves stepped from the woods to reveal themselves. They lowered their bows, yet kept arrows nocked.  
  
"Welcome," said one, stepping forward from the group. "Long has it been since we have greeted any of our kin from the north. I am Haldir, and I keep watch over the borders of the Golden Wood. I had news of your coming, yet I expected a Company, not a single elf. Tell me what news."

"Ma-Mae govannen, Haldir o' Lórien! You startled me, but your timing is most welcome." Legolas's heartfelt honesty seemed to amuse Haldir as his eyes twinkled with mirth.

It was at this point Legolas realised he still held his bow drawn, frozen as he was, before he remembered himself and replacing the arrow in his quiver belatedly touched his hand to his breast then brow.

He realised with a start that he had definitely kept the company of mortals too long to have been caught so completely off guard by his kin. First impressions were all important and correct etiquette had been drilled into him from an early age, being the youngest son of King Thranduil meant that any mistakes he made reflected poorly on his father.

Allowing his face to become blank as he swallowed his emotions he quickly studied the three before him. The one who had introduced himself as Haldir stood at the same height as he, yet this elf was uncommonly broad of chest, with a carriage than almost rivalled Lord Elrond's he mused. His complexion was pale, as most elves were, with slightly arched dark brows that gave the elf a natural air of arrogance, contrasted strikingly with long silver-blond hair light winter-blue almond-shaped eyes that studied him in turn. A beautifully crafted bow rested comfortably in his left hand and, upon closer inspection, Legolas could make out the warrior's name carved just above where his hand gripped. The bow itself was intricately made and he suspected the markings he could not discern were a protection spell, meaning that only the rightful owner would be able to draw the bow. Truly it was a masterpiece and he felt an uncommon twinge of envy.

Haldir's two companions stood to his left and right flank, both bore the same silver-blond locks that denoted them as Silvan elves, though the one to Haldir's left was at least a hand span taller than he, while the other was slightly shorter than all, both were slim of build. It was then that Legolas registered the same dark brows and almond-shaped winter-blue eyes, though the brows were straighter and their face shapes not so long, they were clearly related to each other. All three wore the grey garb of the Galadhrim that allowed them to blend into their surroundings perfectly.

Legolas smiled as Haldir introduced his companions as his younger brothers, the smaller as Rúmil, who returned the prince's gesture and the taller as Orophin who mirrored his brother.

Formalities exchanged, Legolas gave a soft cry at Haldir's question, as his young charge came back into his thoughts.

"Merry!" He whispered, before turning from the Lórien elves, who were somewhat stunned at his reaction, and bolting back through the undergrowth. Confused and concerned, Haldir and his brothers followed the strangely behaved elf.

Legolas's heart had practically stopped beating as the vision of Merry wounded and alone in the middle of this strange forest assailed him.

In his haste to draw the predator away from the little perian he had taken scant note of the paths taken, they had just seemed to open up before him and he now realised that, whilst the trees had been silent and had not carried warning of the warg, they had helped guide him to Haldir and his brothers.

He bolted through the bush, along a path of the trees' choosing, feeling the little grains of soft, rich top-soil that had been compacted by larger animals through the soles of his boots. He was dimly aware of the full power of the mid-day sun breaching the dense canopy creating a mottled patchwork on the uneven ground.

He felt strangely detached as he ducked and dodged before finally taking to the trees. The branches called to him guiding his step as his pace quickened. The feel of the damp, cool moss-covered bark beneath lightly calloused hands as he now swung even higher, his eyes traversing the more open plain, the warm breeze brushing his face to play in his hair, none of these things that usually pleased the wood elf most about the forests of Arda registered now.

The river Celebrant was close, her waters swift and deep. The silver-birch that had welcomed him into its branches directed him to the bush under which he had left the hobbit, yet even as he dropped soundlessly to the forest floor, fear gripped at his heart as he approached the bush and drew back the thin green branches.

Nothing.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Pippin grinned at Boromir's imitation of Sam, appreciating the effort, though in all honesty the man's talents in that area were sadly lacking. Merry now! He had a real gift for mimicking the voices of others, though he was not so wonderful with a truly fine Tuckborough burr for all his mother was a Took. Such joy it was to have a thought of Merry that didn't make him hurt with loss.

He wanted to throw his arms around the man's neck in gratitude for his wonderful news, but he suddenly was aware that not only was he exhausted, he had begun to hurt all over. Every muscle in his body had started to ache and throb it seemed, and the scrapes he had got in the small airshaft were beginning to sting. He managed to reach up and hug Boromir's neck gently, still beaming despite his discomfort. And he was hungry he realised! Being a warrior was hard work.

"Where is the waterskin then Boromir, so that I can _'wash m' hands'_?" He had to admit that in all fairness his own imitation of Sam was not that much better than Boromir's. "I am hungry!" He looked around, wiggling his shoulders a little as his neck seemed to be stiff and sore. Spying the leather bottle lying next to them, he reached for it, then hissed in pain and hunched over.

"Ho now, careful. Let me get that." Boromir easily reached the skin of water and a piece of cloth. After spending an inordinate amount of time trying to carefully remove the most obvious muck, blood and dirt from Peregrin, he realised it would be a daunting task unless he treated the hobbit as he would a normal soldier.

"This is going to hurt," he said regretfully, thinking on all the times he'd heard that said to him. Having someone else tend your wounds was necessary when you couldn't reach them or were not able. Boromir shifted the hobbit forward a little and said, "I will clean those you cannot reach and leave the rest of the torture up to you. Can you stand now? I must see your back."

"Yes I think so," Pippin climbed gingerly to his feet and presented his back for further cleansing.

Looking at Peregrin's back caused the man to hiss and narrow his eyes. The collar of the hobbit's shirt was torn and what he could see beneath the long curls did not look good. "What have we here?" Boromir got to his feet and then changed his mind and knelt behind the hobbit to better examine the grizzly looking wounds. Carefully he peeled off the hobbit's filthy shirt and then tossed it aside. Lifting Peregrin's hair with one hand he steadied the hobbit with his other. And couldn't help but click his tongue. "When did this happen? Do you remember?" As he waited for a response he got up and went for his pack. Those wounds would require more than just water.

"Boromir? My arm is bleeding, too." Pippin held out the injury with a plaintive look, "Do you have something that you could wrap it up in?"

Turning about Boromir saw Peregrin trying to look calm as a light stream of blood trickled from a nasty looking slash. He moved over to the hobbit carrying his pack with him and knelt back down to survey the damage.

Gimli took a deep breath, and cautiously raised himself. "Pippin, my lad. I have some ointment in my pack that may prove helpful. Orc blades can be…" he hesitated, and carefully selected his next word, "…can be dirty. We need to wash your wounds thoroughly, and bind them well. And use that salve," he repeated firmly.

He glanced from under his bushy eyebrows at Boromir; did the man understand that by "_dirty_" Gimli actually meant, **_poisoned_** and that no further chances should be taken with this courageous youngster? In his heart, Gimli did not believe these orcs used poisoned blades, but anything was possible, and their luck had proven so ill lately. "You should boil the water first," he mumbled, and then turned away from them, ashamed of his weakness.

"Aye, if you have something better than my supplies, we'll use that," Boromir looked over at Gimli, wondering when he had regained his consciousness, and got ready to give the stubborn stiff necked dwarf an order to lie still and rest when Gimli's words rang true in his mind. Orc blades **_could_** be poisoned. He was absolutely sure even before he saw the raised eyebrows that this is what the dwarf had meant by "_dirty_". In the past he had carefully couched descriptions of bad situations when young ears might be easily panicked. "My salve contains horehound, garlic, ground bezoar stone and birthwort. I may also still have some of the tincture of foxglove, though I hesitate to use it unless we know specifically what we are treating as it is so ... potent."

Peregrin was a bit unsteady on his feet and Boromir realised he should make the lad sit before he fell. He glanced over at Gimli while he was bathing the worst of the orc blade cuts on the youngling. The dwarf looked almost as bad as the hobbit. He wondered briefly if he looked as awful as they did... Pressing the back of his hand to his eyes, he went back to his task of cleaning and bandaging.

"Here, sit, lad, before you fall. After we get these cuts treated and bandaged on your arms and back, we'll let you lie down for a while. How does that sound, eh?"

"Gimli, what have you in your supplies? Do we use my concoctions or yours? I bow to your larger experience with these demons and their ... crafts." He stopped short of saying _'foul poisons'_.

Going over, one more time, the hideous wheals on the lad's neck he decided they must be teeth or claw marks – most likely claws. Didn't an orc try to pull Peregrin down by the neck? Oh, if the blades weren't intentionally poisoned the claws would most certainly bear disease. He scrubbed a bit over zealously and caused the marks to bleed. Better to bleed out the grime than to let it sit and fester. "Well, my lad, you are certainly going to have a scar worth bragging about to the lasses!"

Pippin found it hard not to grin at Boromir and Gimli pretending that they weren't talking about the possibility of the orc blades being poisoned. Adults could be so transparent sometimes. Besides, as he had told Boromir, he knew plenty of stories about orcs, some he probably should not have listened to as they gave him nightmares.

"More likely I will use it to horrify my mother and sisters!" He said with a wicked grin. "Although I won't pretend I might not make use of it if the right lass to impress should come along." When his friend had clucked over him and finally released him, Pippin put his ragged shirt back on and moved to pick up his pack, intending to use it as a pillow and to lie down near Gimli for a much-needed rest. Exhausted and hurting all over he stumbled when he turned around and tripped over one of the pieces of old ladder that had not been used to splint Gimli's leg.

"Ow! Ow, ow, owwww!" He hopped on one foot, and loudly muttered an expletive that would have caused Merry or Frodo to box his ears for sure and certain. "Owwww!" He complained again, and still balanced on one leg looked at his foot then looked at Boromir. This was just the last straw! Hadn't he put up with enough for one day? He looked at Boromir, a single tear running down his cheek and knowing he looked and sounded like a petulant child, but no longer caring. A hobbit could only take so much after all. "Boromir" He whined. "I have a splinter in my toe!"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Merry's mind was taking a pleasant holiday. He was back in the Shire, running through the early morning meadows. The tall green grasses were topped with whispy pink fluff that made you sneeze and the field was peppered with red and blue as the poppies and cornflowers played hide and seek with each other amongst the high Summer wheat.

Only Pippin's head and shoulders were visible as he bounced ahead of Merry through the meadow and into the field, shaking droplets of dew as he ran and soaking his shirt through. Merry laughed as he tried to catch him, eventually giving up and calling, "Yoiks Pip, wait for me!" He smiled as Pippin vanished from sight, dropping into the wheat to become invisible.

Merry carried on with trepidation. He knew what was coming; Pippin would double back and leap on him out of nowhere. He would try to see him coming, but knew that he never would, Pip was too light on his feet and… Whump!

Merry came to with a shock of pain and cold, he had stopped rolling and was under water. His eyes and mouth both opened and, as he tried to breathe, he took a large gulp of river instead.

At that moment the elven cloak, that Legolas had wrapped the hobbit in, billowed up and lifted the little one up until he was floating on the water's top. He choked and spluttered and managed a few good breaths as the current bore him along.

Grobble Tugman had fished and ferried these waters that he knew as Silverlode, but the high folk, those strange elves, called Celebrant, and in all his years of fishing many was the time had he had cause to pull a body from its waters, but never had he found a live one.

Not until today. He saw the strange little form as soon as it rounded the bow in the river. It was small, a child no doubt, and buoyed up by its clothing. Quickly he cast his net aside and, with his long pole, fished the waterlogged babe from the fast flowing stream.

At first he thought it was dead. It was deathly pale and hardly breathing, so he sat it up in his lap and slapped it sharply across the back several times. The poor little mite gave a cry of distress, tried to gulp a breath but gagged and then expelled water, blood and vomit upon the floor of the boat.

"There, there, don't thee be fretted none. Oi'll be careful o' thee little mite." Grobble took his jacket and wrapped the child in it. "Thee seemed hurt bad enough small boy. Wonder where thy mither or thy ferther be at?" He cradled Merry to his chest as he began to one-handedly manoeuvre the boat to the shore. "Praps an thee been stolen away by those strange elfs. Oi don't be trusting those. Don't thee fret none, Oi'll take thee home to the missus, she do crave another child to clem to she."

Merry was only vaguely aware that he was being lifted back onto dry land. The arms that carried him seemed big and strong and it felt good to be cradled again in warmth and safety. In the back of his mind he heard the strange accent of the man that held him. It was not anyone he knew and as Merry opened his eyes he saw the face of his rescuer. Broad and covered with beard, long flowing hair obscured much of the forehead and neck, but he could make out two bright green eyes that looked filled with concern and kindness. Merry screwed his eyes shut as the pain from his wound, jostling and near drowning surged through his body once more. He began to hiccup small distressed sobs of hurt.

"Don't thee weep little boy, my missus'll make thee fine. Don't thee weep, hush, hush now."

Merry stifled his crying for a moment and looked up at the green eyes, thinking suddenly of Pip making the grief well up again. "I- I'm not a child, Mister Sir," he managed to breathe through his tears, "I-I am Merry." With that he lost consciousness again, his head falling trustingly against the chest of his benefactor.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

To Be Continued

storyfish: You guys must've had way too much fun writing this--I'm impressed how seamlessly everybody's writing fits together.   
Gimli: We all have the amazing Llinos to thank for that. She is a wonder.  
storyfish: Did you all decide upon a plot beforehand or is this more of a freeform whim-shaped story?  
Legolas: Mlle Baylor specified a basic plot in which we would be overwhelmed at the Gates, that Meriadoc would be injured and Boromir, Gimli and Peregrin would be left behind while the rest of us made our escape, and that I would, because of my fleetness of foot, bear Meriadoc to Lothlorien and healing. The rest comes from our individual, very active, imaginations.

Nayana Baggins:! Frodo is the sexy one! But Merry is too if you look at him in angle! Just joking! They're both sexy!  
Gollum: What about us, Precious? No one ever thinks that poor Smeagol is the sexy one. Why not, we wonders, yesss we wonders…

Domstygerr: Pip my little buccaneer, you have really risen to the occasion in this chappie. You are a true hero and my champion!!  
Pippin: Thank you, I am trying very hard to be brave. I will try hard to live up to your praise!  
Domstygerr: Boromir, you're a great man among men. Keep Gimli and Pippin safe.   
Boromir: I am aren't I? Yes, Gimli and young Pippin are most fortunate to be in my manly care, are they not?  
Domstygerr: Damn that Gollum anyhow!  
Gollum: The peopleses, they always misunderstands us, yess! What did we ever do to them, gollum!  
Domstygerr: And lastly, Sam, stop whinging about everything  
Sam: Sorry Sir… er ma'am? I'll do m' best I'm sure.

Tari Elensar: This story is one of the best stories I have read in a long time. Hugs and cuddles to all of the hobbits and a big slap on the back to the rest of the characters. Thank you all for such a nailbiter! :)  
Boromir: Thank _you_ for that manly slap on the back. Pippin does try, but as is he is so short he always winds up slapping my…never mind.

boromir: And comforting the Little one is no easy task  
Boromir: Who are you, that has stolen my name? And what know you of comforting my Little One? Pippin, what have you been up to?  
Pippin: Nothing! I've been stuck here with you the whole time, Boromir. Goodness, you get so jealous sometimes.

Adalia: Let me just start out by saying how great this story is!  
Aragorn: That is a wonderful start, my lady. On behalf of us all, many thanks!

auntiemeesh: Pippin is being so brave and mature, but poor lad! I hope he'll feel a little better now he's had his cry.   
Pippin: I do feel a bit better now, especially now that I know that Merry isn't dead and hasn't been feasted upon by orcs. That was really getting me down!  
Auntiemeesh:And I hope Legolas gets Merry to help soon. That warg needs to leave them alone, they've been through enough for one day.  
Legolas: Never mind the warg, where did Merry go? Anyone? I could use a little help here…

nitedancer: Oh! my poor Pip...It's about time!...  
It's on let it all out..Let the tears come at last...Here!.. You can use my shoulder to cry on if you like!!There!..There!..Sh...Sh...Everything is gonna be alright!..Honestly it will...Merry loves you too you know!...So much!...He would be so proud of you!..I know I am!...  
Pippin: I LIKE you!

Sam: Hehe, the part where Legolas gives himself a bath was so funny! My younger sister adores Aragorn and so I always pick on her about how he appears to never take a bath.   
Legolas: Really, one must take advantages of grooming opportunities when they arise, something that Aragorn has never quite understood.  
Sam: Pippin is such a cheesehead.  
Pippin: Well, I suppose I'll take that as a compliment, since it's food related.

Lindaleriel: This is really cool! The whole idea of getting a bunch of people together and writing a story together is brilliant! And it sounds like a load of fun! Oh, please do post more soon!  
Gimli: We had a grand time writing it and there is much more to come, lassie!

melilot hill: I especially loved the ending. I just had to read that twice.  
Pippin: That part made Baylor cry when it was written, which pleased my author no end, though it was a very emotional scene for me to enact. Marigold and I are both pleased that you liked it.

Birch tree: I was getting claustrophobic while reading about Pippin crawling the tunnel and finding a dead end...please don't do it again!  
Pippin: It WAS rather scary. I have to do it at least once more or we are stuck here, but as I know where I am going now it will not be nearly so scary.

Elbereth: Wow, this story's FANTASTIC!  
The Fellowship: Thank you!

Hyperactive Forever: I hope everyone survives the next chapter!  
Legolas: As do I. I admit that I am very worried at having misplaced Merry!

Pip4: I'm so proud of Pippin, he deserved to be able to break down like that after he got out and Boromir is such a good friend, I'm glad he ended up with Pippin.  
Boromir: Yes, I am quite proud that Pippin held on for as long as he did, but he needed to have a good cry. I will do my best to look after him, as I have grown quite fond of the lad.

girlofring1: But what is this you throw into our midst? But a tricksy Gollum and his quick sand?!  
Gollum: Yess!! Trickssey, clever Gollum, we'll get what's coming to uss, we will, yess, we will!

Celebrean: The part with Pippin going through the hole thing...I would have panicked if I found a dead end.  
Pippin: I nearly panicked and it turned out not to be a dead end.

RosieCotten: So, in other words they will look at him soon? Because undergoing that type of injury for so long usually someone finds out by now that something is wrong.  
Aragorn: I shall do my best, and put forth all my skill, as soon as the opportunity arises. I have been rather busy you know.

Kit5: nice job.  
The Fellowship: Thank you!

ringmarciel: Ah my friend loves them (hobbits) but I like rangers more!  
Aragorn: You have excellent taste.  
Frodo, Merry, Sam and Pippin: And so does your friend!

hobbitsandkilts: Go Pippin. That was very brave of you to see what was on the other side of that air vent.  
Pippin: That's close to the bravest thing I've ever done I think!

KumQuat1: Oh Goodness (grabs hankie and blows nose) Pippin's breakdown is making me tear up...  
Pippin: For some reason hearing that makes Marigold very happy.

lindahoyland: Whyever did I not think before that Aragorn would have 2 birthdays like our Queen?  
Aragorn: Well, now that you know, I shall expect a card on both days, so mark your calendar.

Neige: You hurt Gimli! This is brave new territory! Most people leave him alone! admires  
Gimli: Well actually I did bring it upon myself, but I am glad that you are enjoying my brave struggles to function through my pain. There are many more exciting deeds that I will be doing in future chapters, so keep reading.

Lindelea1: Pippin is so very brave. I got claustrophobic just reading the description of Pippin crawling through the hole.  
Pippin: How do you think _I _felt?  
Lindelea1: Legolas is so very--but really, doing his hair? In the middle of everything?   
Legolas: It was a mess. I had a moment. Why do non-elves have such a problem with understanding my need to be well groomed?  
Lindelea1: Ai! A warg! (Is it a white warg, by chance?)  
Legolas: No, it is a very smelly warg, and very dirty, which could use a bath actually. Unlike me, who is once more clean and fresh.


	8. Mistakes and Misgivings

The East Gate  
Authors The Eastgaters

Cast list  
Frodo – Baylor  
Samwise – Budgielover  
Pippin – Marigold  
Merry – Llinos  
Legolas – Mainframe  
Aragorn – Nilramiel  
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker  
Gimli – Q  
Gollum – Llinos  
The Wicked Elves – Baylor & Mainframe  
Mister and Missus Tugman – Llinos

Story Editor Llinos  
Beta Marigold

Chapter 8 – Mistakes and Misgivings

As he gained upon Gollum, Aragorn recognized the look of the foliage and of the earth. Was the gangral creature actually hoping to trick them? Perhaps he had forgotten that it was a Ranger he was taunting. No Ranger would be deceived by such a simple tactic, and certainly not this Ranger, who had navigated far more dangerous terrain, though not, perhaps, in pursuit of a more slippery quarry.

"Aragorn, wait, please!" Frodo called again, fearful his first warning had gone unheeded."

Aragorn stopped, turning and bending low so that he could speak in a whisper to the hobbits.

"Shhhh. He seeks to lead us into fool's sand. The earth appears solid and firm, yet if you place your weight upon it, you will be pulled down and trapped within. Watch for sandy patches of earth with vine like plants nearby. Stay close behind me. I will not lead you astray."

The man looked from one hobbit to the other. What they really needed was sleep, and clean water, and care for their wounds. Yet how could they rest with this cursed creature lurking nearby? He was surprisingly strong, despite his thinness, and the Ranger doubted that either of the hobbits could face him down, alone, not in their condition. No, he must capture Gollum, quickly, and bind him. Then they could make camp.

Sam looked back at the Ranger, trying to hide his exhaustion and the fact that he was increasingly unable to keep his feet. The running had forced him to dredge up almost the last of his reserves and Frodo looked no better. Now that they had stopped, the ground swam before Sam's eyes and he clenched his toes into the earth to keep from swaying. Sam had almost no experience with Men, but he could see the worry on Aragorn's face as the man's eyes travelled over his master and himself. Did they look so bad then, to cause such worry in the tall man's mien?

They did, Sam thought, looking at Frodo then glancing down at the foul, stinking black blood still crusting his own clothes. They looked awful. What his Gaffer would say about Sam letting Mr. Frodo get into such a state didn't bear thinking about. Suddenly dizzy, Sam sat down in a clatter of cooking pots, his grip shaking on his drawn sword. 'fool's sand' or not, he wasn't going anywhere until he'd caught his breath.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

A splinter? What was the lad talking about? Boromir looked up from where he was kneeling, carefully packing his things. A splinter? Seriously? This was a reason to sound so petulant? Surely the lad jested. But no, when he saw the prickling tears, Boromir knew the lad was about to lose control. He needed to handle this quickly or they'd have trouble on their hands. He was in no mood for hysteria or more tears. Though he did have a twinge of pity for the lad. It had been a very hard day.

"Weeeeeell, now. Just let me have a look at it". He crossed the short distance in two steps, had the lad locked under his arm, with the offended foot turned up as much as he could without twisting it or turning the lad upside down. Yes, there was a splinter, perhaps. But it was so very small… yes, there it was, when he ran his hand over the calloused foot he watched as Peregrin winced when he brushed the splinter's edge.

"Ow! Boromir, it really hurts." Pippin's bottom lip quivered and another tear squeezed from his mournful eyes.

Before the hobbit could utter even one more peep, Boromir did what his own father had always done. He whipped out his small knife, pulled the lad up and flipped him over so the toe was at his own eye level and looked down at Peregrin in amusement as he saw the lad's eyes go wide at the sight of the knife.

Pippin squeaked in fright, "Boromir, put me down! Don't cut it, please don't…"

"We'll have it out in no time at all, with hardly a mark." And he deftly nicked the skin, removed the splinter and returned the hobbit to an upright position. All before Peregrin could so much as take a single breath.

"Do you want to see the evil lance that savaged you so?" Boromir held out the tiny splinter. He did have to admit, though, for a small hobbit foot, it was rather a large piece of wood. He ruffled Peregrin's hair. "Go and lie down now, and don't keep Gimli awake with any of your tall tales." Boromir felt like a father! As he turned back to his task of packing up and refilling the water skins, he stifled a huge yawn.

As miserable as he felt, Gimli was sure he couldn't sleep anymore. He scrubbed at his face and stretched, cautious of his leg and his other aches and pains, then carefully eased around towards the other two.

"Keep me awake, Master Boromir!" Gimli barked. "I'll have you know that we Dwarves are renowned for our stamina. To your own rest now, Sir, and let me take the first watch." A bit embarrassed, Gimli aimed for gruffness with his next comment. "And you, young hobbit, come here." He patted the ground next to himself. "Come and sit by me and we'll tell a tale or two." He looked at Boromir again, and said more kindly, "Sleep, lad. We have much work to do, and I am in need of a pipe before I'll take my rest again."

A bit dizzy and not too sure what had just happened, Pippin staggered over to Gimli's side weaving like he had had too much ale and sat down with a 'whumph' determined that he was going nowhere, at least until he'd had a little rest. He took his foot in one hand and considered his poor toe, then glared at Boromir with narrowed eyes and sniffed, feeling put out at being treated in so cavalier a fashion.

Then Pippin thought of the care with which the man had treated his more serious injuries and smiled at them both in turn. "Gimli is right you know, Boromir. You need to rest. But Gimli, if you need to sleep I think I could stay awake longer.

Boromir carefully finished packing his gear before acknowledging either offer. "Well, I am at present the most able bodied of the three of us, though I confess weariness weighs heavily on me now."

"Or Gimli could wake me up after he's had his pipe if that's better?" Pippin hoped he could keep his eyes open, but if Boromir and Gimli wanted to rest then he would manage somehow.

Boromir tied off his pack and sat down in front of it using it as a backrest. Looking at the gruff old dwarf, his eyebrows bristling, beard jutting out, all but daring Boromir to argue, he decided that maybe he should give in this time. He thought Gimli capable of standing watch, though after hearing Peregrin's offer Boromir had to struggle not to laugh. The youngling was so exhausted he wondered what was keeping him upright even now. But the lad still showed much of the spark and grace that made him such a delight even though he could, such as just a moment before, be such an aggravation.

And if the dwarf proved unable to resist the draw of sleep, then what harm, really? "Master Gimli, I will take you up on your offer to take first watch." Boromir looked carefully about, "We will hear anything trying to come through the tumbled bricks. I will rest in front of the cabinet door, although I do not think anything will use that bolthole. The vent, we'll just have to risk. Wake me when you see fit." And with that he took his pack over to the cabinet, set it down and laid himself out with his hands crossed over his chest and his eyes closed. He felt himself start to drift off almost immediately.

Gimli watched with approval as the man settled himself, exhaustion etched into his face when he finally closed his eyes and sighed.

The young hobbit peered up at Gimli. "Now, my lad, Boromir did a fine job, but we need to keep a close eye on your wounds. You'll be a good fellow and let us know if they pain you, yes? No false heroics. Not when it could cost you your life." He carefully extracted the pipe his father had given him along with his treasured pouch of pipe weed – a parting gift from Bilbo, he remembered – and his hands faltered briefly. He prepared his pipe, and took a great puff, closing his eyes in pleasure.

Pippin nodded and opened his mouth, but Gimli continued. "First you can tell me all that has occurred while I…" Gimli harrumphed slightly, "…dozed. Then I am afraid I am going to have to tell you about a task that only you can fulfil, or we will not be leaving this chamber." His eyes darted briefly at the hidden entrance to the secret passageway, and he sighed. The young hobbit had been through so much already today.

Pippin pillowed his head on his pack and resisted his eyes drifting closed. It was hard to do, as tired as he was, and the dwarf's tone was so solicitous… he spoke in a pleasant rumbling voice that Pippin could not remember ever hearing Gimli use before. Then there was the soporific cloud of smoke from Gimli's pipe that Pip recognised as being filled with Old Toby, Cousin Bilbo's favourite pipe weed and his Uncle Saradoc's and Gandalf's. The younger hobbits generally preferred to smoke Longbottom Leaf, but Pippin had spent many hours as a child with these cherished elders, loitering by the fire in the sitting room at Bag End, or the Long Room at the Great Smial's or the family parlour at Brandy Hall, long after he and Merry should have been in bed, listening to tales and drifting off to the sounds of much loved voices and the smell of Old Toby, barely conscious of being carried off to his warm bed or of stumbling there with Merry's help. The aroma of Gimli's pipe brought back many happy memories.

Eventually Pippin realised Gimli was waiting for him to speak, "It's quite good, Gimli. Boromir says that Legolas carried Merry out and that he wouldn't have done that if Merry weren't alive, and I think he's right about that, don't you?" Pippin paused for Gimli to confirm what he wanted to hear.

"Aye, I'm sure that's right," Gimli himself was relieved by the news. At least the elf had done something useful then.

Pippin beamed then continued, "Frodo and Sam and everyone else got out, Boromir saw them go, he said they were running and were all alive.

"Well that's good too, young Pippin." Gimli puffed away and smiled round his pipe at the enthusiastic youngster.

"Then while you were dozing, Boromir wrenched open the cabinet doors and we found the outline of the secret door, and…" suddenly Pippin yawned hugely. "I beg your pardon," he said politely, trying to stifle it with a hand.

"And then I crawled through that vent… shaft thing to find the other side of the door because we couldn't open it from this side and it wasn't too difficult although I did get a bit scared because the tunnel is so small and I almost got stuck once, but I found it all right. I couldn't lift the latch though, because it was too heavy but I will take the rope in with me next time. I thought I could tie it to the latch and Boromir could pull it up. Then there is a handle and I will open the door for you and Boromir. You saved us Gimli, by knowing about that special door and telling us about it, and I won't ever tell anyone about the dwarves' secret, nor will Boromir I am quite sure."

He stretched, feeling his muscles getting stiff, then adjusted his position, nestling his head deeper into his pack. "What other task did you want to tell me about Gimli? I might have to rest a little before I can do it, and I _know_ I will have to rest before I go through that hole again. It's really not a hole that is to a hobbit's liking I am afraid!" He managed to stifle the next yawn and looked at Gimli expectantly with drooping eyelids.

Gimli listened to Pippin's recitation with a growing sense of guilt. The little hobbit had done so much, and was still hard at work, reporting back his and Boromir's actions while Gimli had been unconscious. What other task did Gimli have for him? "Go to sleep, my lad," Gimli said, barely recognizing his voice. "You've done the task I had in mind already. I'll keep watch over you, just as you did over me earlier. T'is only fair."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

There was a moment of silence as Legolas quickly read the signs Merry had unconsciously left in the bracken, his fingers lightly hovering over the place where the hobbit had last rested. Leaves and topsoil had been disturbed and small fingers had dug easily into the soft earth in order to pull himself along.

Then the leaves spoke quietly to him. They had heard Merry say that he should spare Legolas the encumbrance, that he was almost spent and the elf should not worry for his safety. "Oh Merry," Legolas whispered to the helpful foliage, "He should value himself above that!" The leaves nodded wisely in agreement.

He heard when Haldir, Rúmil and Orophin dropped down behind him but continued slowly towards the river and at the lip of an incline the tracks changed as if Merry's weight left the ground in places and continued to do so at intervals until the tracks vanished into the river. _'Of course, he must have rolled into the waters, it was the only way he could escape my care._' he thought. _'Merry you were no terrible burden, your life is worth much to your cousins and to me.'_

Legolas had not needed to see the small droplets of blood here and there to know that the fall had jostled his friend's wound again, the metallic smell hung in the air surrounding the riverbank, kept down by the humidity.

As he stood scanning the river for any sign of his friend, the three brothers stood at his flank and with sad mournful, but determined eyes Legolas turned to them. "He's not dead! Merry could not have gone far; we must search the river, for he is gravely wounded. He is the reason why Estel sent me on ahead; we hoped he could be tended by a healer in your city."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Curse the stupid creatures! They is taking the Precious into the fool's sand! It will be losst! Losst forever and forever. Nooo! They's not so clever. Sméagol knows where It is. The thieving little hobbit keeps It – keepses the Precious round hiss necks! We gets hiss neck and squeezes it – then we gets the Precious back!

"Sméagol is clever and Sméagol is strong – pushes the skin and bone hobbit in the fool's sand and then we grab the Precious while he struggles. He won't get out! He's skinny but still he's got fat enough to sink and sink. Then we grab the Precious and runs and runs and runs. Man won't catches us and stupid fat hobbit can't run any more – he's sat down on his netherhinds."

Gollum stopped his dancing from one leg to the other as he saw Frodo pause a few paces away from a large patch of fool's sand. With an agility that belied his great age and worn appearance he squat-ran like a bandy legged spider orc towards the pursuers.

Managing to side step the Ranger, the creature flung his full weight at Frodo and carried him several feet across the rough ground and into the fool's sand. Landing on top of him, Gollum tried to snatch open the hobbit's shirt to grab the Ring before they both sank.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Gimli sighed, then fussed with his pipe, distracting himself. But at last, he gave himself up to thought.

So they'd found the passageway, the little one had managed to work his way through it, and had even come up with a plan. A good one, too, Gimli admitted to himself. He doubted he'd been able to give much information to Pippin and Boromir before he'd collapsed; all credit was due to his companions.

What a revelation to gasp out to a halfling and a human! Yet he'd had no choice, no choice at all, and he trusted them to keep the Dwarves' secret just that – secret. Of course, if they didn't succeed in escaping… But Gimli resolutely turned his thoughts from that path, and back to planning.

Very well. He was getting better, but it took weeks, even for a sturdy dwarf, to recover from a broken leg. Boromir was a large, strong man, but not even he could carry Gimli for more than a few paces, nor could Gimli hobble more than a few steps at a time. The hobbit was a brave lad, but he had less strength than a dwarf-child.

Gimli could see only two possible endings: All three of them died in this very chamber, whether from starvation or the enmity of the orcs, or the man and the hobbit escaped through the secret passage, leaving Gimli behind.

Then that would be it, he decided, puffing contentedly. He would remain behind. It was only fitting; he'd brought them to Moria, against the Wizard's wishes, and the Wizard had died here. Gimli would join him, and remain sealed in the secret chambers of Khazad-dûm, with his cousin Balin.

He sighed yet again, somehow comforted, even now, at the end of his life, knowing he would soon rejoin his ancestors, while these good folk remained free.

The hours flew away.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Now then Mister Tugman, this child has been cut bad with a knife. Who would harm a little mite so?"

"Right you be Missus Tugman. Floating in the Silverlode Oi found 'e. Either them as cut he, tried to drownded he or the boy escaped them as would murder he and fell in all on heself."

"Does thee think there be those groblins from the mountains? What else might have attacked the tiny child Mister Tugman? Surely not even elfs would deal such a blow to a babe like he."

"Nay Missus Tugman, they groblins'd not roam so far in the light of the sun. Maybe 'twas elfs or a most wicked parent or some as stole he away for a slave and then tired o' he."

"Well he be mine now Mister Tugman, mine and thine, do he live. He be a pleasing little thing and most fair to the eye, even though he be ailing. Oi'll tend he well, don't thee fear."

Merry realised that opening his eyes would be a good thing to do now. He had been dimly listening to the conversation, not understanding all of it, but liking the sound of the voices, which were sonorous and kindly. He blinked his lids up and down until his vision finally focussed and adjusted to the dim light of a flickering candle, shadows on the wall showing there was a fire burning somewhere in the cramped room as well.

He was lying on a small cot and was vaguely aware that he no longer hurt as much as he had. The pain in his chest was a dull ache, nagging at him but not seizing him at every breath with unbearable agony. Merry tried to speak to the large woman who leaned over him. Her grey hair was piled on top of her head in a knot and her ample bosom was laced into a thick corset. "M-m-m…" his voice would not come, his mouth too dry and his strength exhausted.

"Now then child, don't thee tax thysen." The woman sat beside him on the cot and gently lifted Merry's upper body and rested his head in her lap. "Mither Tugman Oi be. Oi'll take good care on thee, nurse thee like mine own child. Won't let none o' them elfs give thee harm again." She raised a spoon to his lips and dropped some liquid into his mouth, repeating the gesture several times. "If'n yourn mither and ferther be gone, thee will be our son, mine and Mister Tugman's, we'll love thee as our own."

"I-I n-not a-a child." Merry managed to stutter. "I-I am a hobb… a ho…" He suddenly felt very tired and unable to continue. These people obviously thought he was a small child and not an adult, which if they had never met a hobbit before was not surprising, but, while he was grateful for their help, he did not want them to think he was an orphan that needed to be adopted. "My n-name i-is…" It was no good, Merry could no longer keep his eyes open, the room grew softer and further away and the voices faded to a whisper. Before he drifted off into velvet blackness he heard the woman, Mother Tugman she had called herself, still talking to the man.

"Oi, gave he a good dosing o' the poppy, Mister Tugman. He should sleep good and long, keep he still and quiet, while he so poorly off."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Aragorn! Sam!" Frodo cried in panic and all of his motions mired him even deeper in the fool's sand. Throughout it all, he was unaware that he clasped the Ring desperately in one hand.

Aragorn heard the creature coming, and whirled to make a grab at it, but he was inches short of the slippery wretch. With surprising force, Gollum crashed into Frodo, lifting him literally off his feet and throwing them both into a wide patch of the dangerous sand. Small though they were, their combined weight, along with the force of Gollum's charge, drove them into the deadly bog, and immediately they began to sink.

"Frodo!" the Ranger shouted. Silently he cursed his decision to go after the creature, he had made a choice and chosen badly. Frodo was weak, injured, exhausted. The wiry Gollum would drown him for sure. Perhaps he would drown himself as well, but the man doubted Gollum would have made the rush if he did not believe he could escape the fool's sand somehow, bearing the treasure he coveted.

And Frodo was fighting. Perhaps it was the hold of the Ring, but as Gollum tried to reach the hobbit's neck, the Ring-bearer rallied, screamed, and kicked powerfully with both legs, knocking Gollum away from him, and at the same time driving himself deeper into the deadly muck. He struggled, a dangerous thing to do when encountering fool's sand, and cried out for help.

Paying no attention at all to Gollum, who was flopping about like a fish not far from an overhanging tree, Aragorn ran to the side of the patch that was nearest to the struggling hobbit. As he ran, he called to him, unsure if Frodo could heed the Ranger through his obvious panic.

"Don't struggle! Frodo! Listen to me – be still! Fighting will make you sink more swiftly. Be still! Frodo! Hear me!" Over and over he shouted to the hobbit. But Frodo continued to thrash and cry for help.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Pippin, exhausted, fell at once into a restless sleep, and almost immediately he shifted and cried out but in a voice that was not quite his own. Suddenly he felt an almost overwhelming wave of pain, and a longing for Pippin's comforting embrace. It was Merry, it must be Merry, and in his dream Pippin called forth all of the strength he could muster and lent it to his suffering cousin, his soul mate, whispering words of encouragement and comfort, holding his friend tightly, knowing that he could cause him no pain in this dream world no matter how tightly he clung to him.

Pippin was aware of the world flowing by, images of a landscape he did not know passing so quickly that he saw little of it, or perhaps it was through Merry's eyes that he was seeing and Merry could not grasp the reality of the ever-changing scenes. Merry was too busy trying to hold onto life and Pippin tried to lend his cousin all of the encouragement he could, "I am all right." He told Merry over and over again. "You must be all right too." And then he finally felt Merry relax and rest as the world continued to move, although he himself seemed to stay still, held tightly in other arms that kept him safe and Pippin drifted away, back into unremembered dreams of his own.

Gimli sighed yet again, somehow comforted, even now, at the end of his life, knowing he would soon rejoin his ancestors, while these good folk remained free and the hours flew away.

Boromir never really slept well when he was out in the field. He could never truly relax enough to fall into that deep restful sleep that restored and allowed for dreams. After years of battle readiness, Boromir missed those languid nights and long mornings when he'd wake in the arms of someone far, far prettier than the dwarf he was now staring at.

Ugh. Time to get moving. With practiced ease, he rose carefully and quietly. Fellow soldiers appreciated not being woken unnecessarily. He rolled his head to release the cricks. Tiny pops were his reward for loosening the joints in his neck. He rolled his shoulders with eyes closed relishing the few minutes of peace.

Sometimes he longed for the days with his brother on the banks of the river, skimming stones, imitating birds, teasing their dog with a rag ball. How that dog loved to swim – like Faramir. Faramir would have spent every moment of every summer in the water if he could have. But too soon, duties and lessons and life took their hold and both lads were called away to separate posts. Boromir knew it rankled on Faramir that Boromir always seemed to get the better responsibilities, the jobs that seemed more fun or daring. It wasn't something he, Boromir, intentionally strove for. It was just how their father saw fit to make things happen. Still, if he could, Boromir would now gladly give up some of those coveted tasks if he could just have a day or two on the banks of the river with Faramir, the rag ball and their dog…

The dwarf cleared his throat and brought Boromir's attention back to reality. Looking over at the sleeping, though somewhat restless hobbit, Boromir rose and moved to sit beside Gimli and offer a water skin and biscuit. "How long did we sleep? Not long I hope. The sooner we are out of this place the better."

"How long?" Gimli frowned in thought. "Several hours, I believe. 'Tis very quiet out there," and he jerked his head behind him, indicating the collapsed entrance. "Perhaps they think us dead. Or as good as," he added glumly, looking at his bandaged leg.

Boromir grimaced slightly, "I know this is not what you'd intended when we took your route instead of mine. I was beginning to rather enjoy the thought of a Dwarven welcome." He placed a hand on Gimli's shoulder, "I am so very sorry for your loss. Family is sometimes all we can count on in this world." He took his hand away and picked up the water skin to take another drink. Stopping before taking a swig he looked over to the dwarf for a moment. Then he took the drink of water, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, stoppered the skin and set it down.

"Aye, thanks lad." Gimli sniffed, "I cannot mourn them properly here and now, it is the right place, but not the right time." He swallowed away his regret and loss. He had permitted himself brief tears when they'd discovered Balin's tomb, and Boromir had rested a hand on his shoulder then, but there were lives still in the balance here. "Now," he continued in a very different tone of voice, indicating that that discussion was closed, "we have plans to lay and decisions to make." He nodded at Pippin. "The lad told me that you found the passageway, and that he even entered it. His idea about how to open the door was a good one, too. You both should go as soon as he's fully rested and you've eaten."

The two warriors stared at each other. Gimli knew that Boromir understood what he was saying. He tugged at his beard impatiently; he would be glad when they both were gone, and he would be left in peace and quiet. Then he would mourn his losses, away from Men and Hobbits.

"Oh, no, I'm not going to give into your self-sacrificing noble schemes!" Boromir had heard such nonsense before. "I've not left a comrade behind yet who could motivate under some power, even another's, and I'm not going to start here."

"You carry me! How far do you think you could carry me, Master Boromir? And with my leg trussed up like this?" He glanced at Pippin, not wanting to wake him, and sighed, trying to settle himself.

Boromir paused. He'd have to couch his next words in a manner that would not get Gimli's defences up and his mind closed. The Dwarf could be obstinate, stubborn, agonizingly irritating; and those were his good qualities, "I've no idea what awaits us out there once we break free of this guard room, but we will have need to rely heavily upon your Dwarven knowledge of Mines' in order to gain our final freedom. How soon do you think you can manoeuvre yourself?" Boromir inclined his head to the splinted leg. "As much as you may find it distasteful, I am quite capable of shipping your sad arse all the way to Gondor if I've such a mind – which, out of pity for Gondor I haven't. But I could."

"I cannot help you like this, Boromir," Gimli gestured at his leg. "Perhaps you could carry me, but carry me to what end? Your arguments are fallacious," Gimli hissed at the man, "I can easily describe the passageway. You've a nose, you can find your own way out. That hobbit-lad certainly could."

Boromir dug into his pack and produced a small piece of dried fish he'd been saving for a treat after Meriadoc and Peregrin's next lesson. He liked to give them some sort of meat if he had it to spare. It helped to replace the energy he'd knocked out of them. He took a bit so as not to appear too charitable and handed the rest to the Dwarf. "Our lad will need both of us once we are out of here and on our way to meet up with the others if that is at all possible. He cannot stand the blow of loosing another friend." Boromir left these words to sink in to the dwarf's thick skull.

"I'm being practical," Gimli picked up a fragment of the dried fish, sniffing it and wrinkling his nose. He glanced up at Boromir. "I am not suicidal, or battle-weary, or seeking an heroic death. I am stating the obvious. I cannot, and will not, hinder your escape.

"I appreciate your offer," Gimli said, and it wasn't entirely a lie. "But we've both been in battle before. There are casualties, and losses that must be born. 'Tis more important that Pippin rejoin his cousins, for their sake as well as his." He paused, and then in an even softer growl said, "For the sake of the Quest." The members of the Fellowship rarely alluded to why they had joined together; it was almost taboo, and the words stung Gimli's tongue. He saw the effect they had on Boromir, too.

Boromir snorted in frustration. If he had any energy left it was quickly being sapped out of him. "Arguing with a dwarf is akin to arguing with a wall. Except a wall has the good sense to not talk nonsense."

Gimli felt slightly abashed at this, "No, my boy. 'Twas a kind offer, and in other circumstances it might be the best offer, but here, in this dark place that has brought so much pain, there is nowt for any of us to do but our duty. Yours is to go, and to shepherd Pippin in the going. Mine is to help you do so, and I do that best by remaining behind." Gimli tossed the flakes of fish in his mouth. "Is this what Men call food?" he asked. "Cram is better, had I any cram to offer you."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Haldir leaned over the embankment, taking in the same tracks that Legolas had just noted. "Did you travel with another?" he asked. "It appears someone has just thrown themselves down the bank; I find this a strange riddle.

Legolas fixed cold eyes upon the Marchwarden, all prior feelings of relief and kinship swept away by that one callous remark. "The little one feared to burden me and has tried to sacrifice himself to save me from harm. He is sorely wounded and alone and probably terrified now." His soft voice rose as he turned to face Haldir completely. No longer the warm, open wood elf who had so freely shared his joy at the realisation that he was once again in the company of his own kind, but changed instantly into the stern and regal son of King Thranduil. He stood there as still and hard as granite pinning the Silvan Elf with sapphire orbs that swirled and darkened to a midnight pitch.

Haldir's hand gripped his bow a little tighter, his chin rose a little higher in defiance. His fair face went blank and his eyes narrowed at the wood elf's intimidating stare, but Haldir did not quite look away. "Have you other companions? Before we can take any action, I must know your situation. Tell me your tale, and make haste."

As much as Legolas wished to throttle this arrogant elf, for he had forgotten how officious and condescending elves could be, he knew time was of the essence, he would not even entertain the idea of Merry drowning. He had been entrusted with the hobbit and he must find him at all costs. He had not had time to name himself to the Lórien elves before he had fled to return to Merry. Perhaps his identity would instil more of a sense of urgency in these border guards.

"I did not introduce myself at our meeting. I ask your pardon, but I was afraid for my charge, and my fear as you see was well founded. I am Legolas Greenleaf, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm." Surprise replaced the haughtiness in Haldir's eyes and all three brothers dipped their heads slightly in deference. I came with a Fellowship of nine, we set out from Imladris with the blessings of Lord Elrond," Legolas summarised their journey as quickly as he could. "We were forced to travel through the Mines of Moria and there Mithrandir fell to a Balrog of the deep."

Orophin and Rúmil gasped, eyes gone wide in shock while Haldir's composure broke to only a lesser degree at the news of the Istari's demise.

"Estel of the Dunedain escaped with two of the halflings in our Fellowship," Legolas continued, omitting the purpose of their journey; he dare not give voice of the One Ring's discovery. "I carried out a third halfling, who is gravely wounded and another of his kin was trapped in the Mine with the remaining two of our companions, Gimli son of Gloin of the Lonely Mountain, and Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor. Those three bought our escape, I fear, with their lives."

"I left my charge here, whilst I led the warg off, and that is when I met you." Legolas paused long enough to gauge the expression of bemused puzzlement on the elves' faces, "The hobbits – halflings – have become very dear to us," he allowed himself a small smile as he shouldered his bow and prepared to move on to search for Merry. "It is impossible not to be affected thus by them, but you will meet them for yourselves soon enough."

They started out along the riverbank, ever watchful for sight, sound or track. After only a short time Legolas became aware of eyes on him, he turned and found Haldir watching him closely. The Marchwarden sent Rúmil and Orophin on ahead as it became obvious that Legolas would not speak and instead was sinking into a melancholy obviously born of worry.

Haldir realised that he could not allow Legolas to slip into despair now when the perian was still missing. He did not truly believe that the halfling was alive, after all he was mortal, small and fragile like a human child. But he was determined to distract this elf, who had been charged with his safety, away from his dark mood. "Tell me of the periain, do they really eat as much as rumour has it?"

He arched an eyebrow as this caused Legolas to at last smile. "Oh yes, that is quite true, I have never seen an appetite such as the periain possess. They are quite capable of eating up to three times that of a grown man and 'tis custom for them to eat six times a day!"

"Six? Surely you jest!"

"Nay, 'tis true. Their days can revolve entirely around eating and drinking and 'tis more than once Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli or I have had to hunt more game in the evening to stop the periain from complaining of empty bellies." he smiled fondly.

"And the one we search for, Merry, what of him?"

"Why, are you curious?"

"Yes, I have never met periain before and from what you have told me I am interested to hear more."

"Merry. He is the only son of Saradoc, the Master of Buckland…" At Haldir's blank look he explained briefly the lay of the Shire then continued. "…and Esmeralda Took and passed his majority a few years ago. He is first cousin to Peregrin Took via his mother's side and second cousins with Frodo via his father, he..."

"Stop please; I have no wish for you to go into so much detail for my head will ache from it!" He cried good-naturedly. "Are all hobbit lines this…entwined?" he inquired.

"Yes as a matter of fact they are and, before you ask, the only reason I know all of this and can recite it by heart is because hobbits love nothing more than to discuss their family lines and the fine art of pipe weed. How my head would spin as Pippin or Merry mainly, would sit and speak for hours to anyone who would listen."

"You were too generous; I think I may have taken to the trees for salvation."

"I tried that and Merry sat at the bottom of the tree and continued as before."

It was Haldir's turn to smile at the image of the golden-haired elf fleeing from the chattering hobbit.

"I think they took my silence to mean a willing audience, though in truth it was not as tiresome as it sounds, for we all grew closer though such antics. Even Gimli was not immune to their charms and would often converse with them on the finer points of pipe weed." The thought of the dwarf momentarily made him wish he were beside him now, growling and insulting him, he missed the banter more than he thought possible.

"I confess I am not so sure I wish to meet these little ones that eat all, talk all and smoke weeds." Haldir concluded.

Just then Rúmil and Orophin emerged from the trees in front and smiled when they saw that their brother had managed to draw the guest from his dark brooding.

"Have you found anything?" Haldir asked, serious and businesslike once more.

"We have," said Orophin as he came to stand in front of his brother, Rúmil at his right.

"You have found Merry? Where? How?" Legolas gripped Orophin's arm.

"Peace Legolas of Mirkwood," Orophin laid a gentle hand on top of Legolas', soothing him to clam, "we may have found your friend but we did not see him."

Haldir quickly took command, "what did you find?"

"We found brother that we have not visited this part of Lórien in too long it seems, for we came across a human dwelling near the water's edge and it looks to have been there several decades or so at least."

Haldir frowned at Rúmil, this was not pleasing news, The Golden Wood was not for the habitation of humans and where one built, others would follow he feared, human's living anywhere near to Caras Galadhon turned his stomach, they would attract Orc infestation for sure and that might explain why, for the first time, warg now wandered this forest. But nothing happened in Lothlórien without the Lady's knowledge and he trusted her judgment, though he would raise his concerns with her at the first opportunity.

"What makes you think that the humans have anything to do with Merry?" Legolas was becoming impatient as Haldir mulled over this news that obviously did not sit well with him.

"You said that your friend was badly wounded, there was a small boat pulled up on shore and Orophin found blood in it that did not smell human. However we have never encountered periain so we could not be sure it was your friend."

"How far is this…settlement from here?" Haldir asked, though he near spat out the words.

"Three miles up stream," and before his brother could ask Orophin added that they smelt only two humans within the cabin.

Haldir halted Legolas before the elf could stride too far. "We cannot simply walk up to their front door and demand entrance," he stated, earning a scowl.

"And why not?" He demanded, concern for Merry clouding his judgement now that they were so close.

Haldir sighed. "This is not Imladris nor Mirkwood Legolas, we of the Golden Wood do not associate with humans as readily as the other elven realms and humans in these lands are often suspicious and distrustful of us."

As Haldir's anger seeped into his words, Legolas brought his full attention back to the Marchwarden. It would be foolish to ignore advice given by one who has lived in these parts for millennia, and Haldir had not gained the title of Marchwarden lightly. "Why do you hold back, what is the cause of such prejudice Haldir? We in Mirkwood may not have had the peace of Imladris or Lothlórien, yet we have no trouble with humans and often they travel to the palace. My father imports much from the peoples of Lake Town and has done so for many generations of man."

Haldir's lips tightened but at a nod from Orophin he spoke. "Orophin is the youngest of we three," he flicked his eyes to his brother and they softened before returning them to their visitor. "Before he entered the Galadhrim perimeter guardians he was a runner between here and Imladris and whilst returning from one such errand he came across a riderless horse. Concerned that someone might be hurt, he left the path and headed in the direction the animal had come from. He found the rider easily enough, he was human and whatever the circumstances were, the horse had shied and thrown the man and he had fallen, breaking his neck."

He paused as he watched Rúmil unconsciously wrap an arm around his brother's waist and pull him a little closer.

"At that same moment six other humans rode up and surrounded my brother, he was set upon, parted from his mare and beaten. They refused to listen when he spoke of how he had found their friend and that he had just wanted to help…" Haldir's eyes burned as the memories surfaced as fresh as the day they were created. "When his mare arrived riderless and frothing at the mouth, eyes wide and refusing to allow any near her, we rode out immediately, easily picking up where the mare had left the path. We found him there, beaten bloody, tied to a tree and left for dead, he was so badly beaten that it was four days before he regained consciousness and many more after that before he could walk and talk again."

Legolas watched as the stern-faced Marchwarden reached out and gently cupped the side of his brother's face while whispering words of comfort to a clearly distressed Rúmil. Oddly enough Orophin seemed not to be affected as badly as his brothers and Legolas suddenly felt like an intruder on a very private moment.

"The Lady of our Realm read from his mind what had occurred," Haldir explained, glancing back to Legolas. "He does not now remember anything about that day; the memories never returned by the Grace of the Valar, but those images will never leave Rúmil and I for as long as we live."

Orophin gave them both a quick reassuring embrace before walking towards Legolas "And poor Orophin has ever since been mothered!" He winked at Legolas and smiled back at his brothers who scowled in turn.

Legolas laughed quietly, grateful for Orophin's tactic. "I understand now your caution Haldir; if one of my kin were injured thus I am not sure what I would do. What do you then suggest we do to reach Merry?"

"We will wait until dark, for human eyesight is poorest at night, and we will be able to move more freely."

This agreed, they continued along the riverbank until the last mile where they took to the trees. They waited for the light to fade seated in the treetops, with the cabin just in sight through the thick leaves of the sycamore, which seemed very pleased with itself and chattered like a squirrel with Legolas much to the amusement to the three brothers.

"Do all trees greet you as enthusiastically as this one?" Orophin whispered.

"Yes. I may live in a palace but I am more at home in their branches than in feather beds, my father has the same effect but more so, the plants and animals also speak with him."

"I did not know that was possible!" Orophin said.

"I have seen Lord Celeborn do that before and I know that Lord Elrond also has the talent," Haldir added.

"Ah! I'm not sure I would like such a talent," Orophin mused. "It would be dreadful to be assailed with voices wherever one went."

"It's not like that and besides how should we know any different? I for one find it more disturbing when all is quiet; I find it a comfort to hear the trees whisper all around me. Do you not hear them, surely you must?"

"We all hear the trees," Rúmil confirmed. "But we have to concentrate to understand what they say."

Under the full cover of darkness, four shadowed figures moved silently towards the cabin. Light still spilled out through a curtained window and noise from inside told them the occupants were awake. Legolas moved to the centre of the window and pressing his face flat against the pane he was just able to see through where the curtain was not properly drawn.

He made out an elderly man who moved out of his line of sight to reveal a woman slightly younger, though not by much, seated beside a crudely fashioned bed. A bowl rested in her lap and periodically she dunked a cloth in it, rung it out and worked it over the figure on the bed.

As Legolas watched he heard a familiar moan and caught the scent of Merry, which had been heightened by the moisture. The woman rose and moved to replace the now dirty water allowing Legolas a clear view of the figure on the bed.

Merry – I've found you!" He breathed.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

**To Be Continued**

Frodo is in the Chair this time, (with occasional interruptions) to answer all your notes and queries:-

_Neige_: Merry! Aragorn! No! Please make Merry better soon!  
_Frodo:_ I think Aragorn is busy helping me right now!

_Earelwen_: wow I am lost for words! this is simply amazing! To find a collection of such great authors all writing one of the best stories I have ever read is truly a rare and wonderful thing.  
_Frodo_: On behalf of all us, we thank you for your glowing praise and accolades!  
_Earelwen_: To Frodo (BOTOR) - I love you! I am sending many hugs, kisses and bottles of dwarvish ale straight your way.  
_Frodo_: I look forward to receiving all those things.  
_Earelwen To Sam_ - You are so cute!  
_Sam_: Ahem, are you sure about that Miss?  
_Earelwen: To Merry_ - Please don't die!  
_Merry_: Can't m-make promises – am f-feeling a bit…arrrghhh!  
_Earelwen: To Pippin_ - I know you'll get out and find your Merry again.  
_Pippin_: Oh good – I've been so worried!

_Shirebound_: Omigosh, I'm exhausted on their behalf.  
_Frodo_: Sorry to hear we've worn you out, my dear. Here, have some tea.

_smalldiver_: You're all cruel! I mean, Merry was so close to getting help, and you made everything worse! And Pippin's so brave!  
_Frodo_: Now, Merry is being well looked after by kind people. I don't see the cruelty in that. And yes, Pippin, is very brave, but don't forget that Ringbearers need hugs, too.

_my-fool-of-a-took:_ poor little pippin. the splinter thing was so cute! i just want to hug him!_Frodo_: As I just said to Smalldiver, yes, poor little Pippin is so cute, but the Bearer of The One Ring is cute, too, and also needs hugs.

_melilot hill_: what was Merry thinking, trying to get away from Legolas? Now we still don't know if he's going to be all right!  
_Frodo_: Merry can, indeed, be a rash and foolish young hobbit. I have tried my best, as his older cousin, to teach him better ways, but he is also stubborn and single-minded. It's too bad he can't learn to be more like his Cousin Frodo.  
_Merry_: Me rash! I'm not the one stuck in a bog!

_hobbitsandkilts_: Now Merry what were you thinking? You're scaring poor Legolas. Poor Pippin **_hugs_**  
_Frodo_: Really, Merry, what WERE you thinking? Yes, yes, everyone wants to hug Pippin.

_Samwise The Strong:_ Hmm... Pippy get's washed. Poison suspected. Pippy gets a sliver. wood suspected.  
_Frodo_: Fortunately, Pippin is in very capable hands at the moment (and out of my hair, might I add).

_Lindalëriel_: "I have a splinter in my toe!" That is so cute, so Pippish! **_Smiles_**!  
_Frodo_: You have a lovely smile, my dear.

_Kimby_: Merry and Pip are still apart  
But at least Pip knows Merry's alive  
Gimli is rebuked by his da in a dream  
And has Legolas taken a dive? [snip]  
_Frodo_: Praise in poetry! My dear Kit5, you are a wonder among wonders! You must sing this one in the Hall of Fire!

_fliewatuet_: Hugs to Pippin and anyone else,  
_Frodo_: Thank you VERY MUCH for my hug!

_Elwyna_: This was the best chapter yet! Boromir was acting most admirable, manly AND compassionate. So, snaps to Boromir!  
_Frodo_: Boromir is operating under instructions to always be as manly as possible. I'm glad he's succeeding.  
_Boromir_: Snaps? Are you questioning my sexual persuasion? Oh, just a moment. I have consulted my American Slang Dictionary under the heading "90's" and I see that it is the same as giving a slap on the shoulder in congratulations. I can accept that with dignity. Thank you. It is very hard work being stuck with an almost adult hobbit and a somewhat mule headed dwarf but, well, one of us had to stay behind to make this part of the story hunky so they chose me. Lucky me. Legolas gets to hang with his buddies and Aragorn gets a bath. Hrmph.

_ringmarciel_: Oh and poor Merry.  
_Frodo_: Yes, poor Merry. Might I point out that I am rather in a precarious situation myself at the moment?

_Wisteria_: Great job! So, who's Gollum? Excellent use of S's.  
_Frodo_: The extraordinarily talented Mlle Llinos filled in for Gollum at this point, and did, indeed, make excellent use of the letter "s".

_Ninie_: But Boromir needs more love! Every character need more love! Except Gollum.  
_Frodo_: Even Gollum needs a little love now and again.  
_Boromir_: I heartily agree about more love, Ninie. Though at your tender age, I feel I will need to decline your tempting offer, if indeed it **_was_** an offer. After all, there are laws in my father's country about that. Though is does bolster one's ego... Je suis passionné au sujet des hobbits.

_Mystarri_: Poor Merry, I thought the Elves were his only chance of survival. Legolas rocks in this story! And great job with Gimli, most people completely ignore him!  
_Frodo_: Legolas quite agrees with you that he rocks. And I quite agree with you that Gimli does not always get his fair share of recognition. I also agree with you that hobbits are amazing. Especially we Bagginses.  
_Merry_: No I'll take a bit of tlc wherever I can get it – you wouldn't believe the competition round here for attention.

_OceanSoul_: To the person who picked Merry out of the river; Who are you? :  
_Frodo_: We shall just have to wait and see about that person who picked Merry out of the river, now, won't we?

_pebbles_: I can't take much more!  
_Frodo_: Strength, friend, strength!

_Pip4_: K'Merry I know you're probably not very coherent at the moment but why?!?!? Legolas is looking for you and you nearly gave me a heart attack rolling down the hill into the water like that. Just remember guys that Gollum still has a part to play.  
I hope Gimli's wrong.  
_Frodo_: Thank you for giving Merry that talking-to -- I think he took it quite seriously. And thanks for the tips on Gollum -- he is wily and able to do much ill. I hope Gimli's wrong too.

_Anso the Hobbit_: Sam and Frodo are exhausted, but are brave and find ways to make it just one more step. What will happen to Merry?  
_Frodo_: Yes, Sam and Frodo ARE brave, aren't they, Anso? So very kind of you to notice! Never fear, help is on the way to Merry!

_domstygerr_: Legolas, I love you for taking such good care of Merry. But Merry my love, what are you thinking? Gimili, love, do not despair, you have not failed anyone. Boromir, you must keep the faith in your camp, Gollum, best watch yourself.  
_Frodo_: Clearly you are a wise and caring advisor. I hope everyone takes your words to heart.  
  
_Ice Ember_: Stupid Gollum, I will kill you! And your little warg, too!  
_Frodo_: Please remember that Gollum too may have a part to play in these affairs before the end. I hope you are enjoying the story.

_lindahoyland_: This plot is full of wonderful twists and turns !  
_Frodo_: I hope you continue to enjoy the wonderful twists and turns to come!

_auntiemeesh_: Merry was quite noble and self-sacrificing, attempting to off himself to save his friends, but really, just a trifle melodramatic as well. I'm so glad that Pippin got his cry out and Boromir was able to reassure!  
_Frodo_: Merry can be a trifle melodramatic at times. I think it's the Took in him. I, too, was glad that Boromir was there to comfort Pippin.

_FantasyFan_: This story gets a 503 (angst rating) at this point, which is pretty high. I may have to invent a new category for these multi-author things. In canon, when Merry isn't there to lead, Pippin learns how. But when Pippin isn't there to comfort, Merry falters. It seems like the same things are going on here. Playing with canon is fun, but Gollum needs to be there for Frodo in Mordor - you wouldn't mess with that, would you?  
_Frodo_: Wow, a 503 on the angst factor. I'm impressed. And you are quite correct in your analysis of Merry and Pippin's relationship -- Merry relies just as much on his little cousin as Pippin does on his big cousin. Your concerns about Gollum are well founded, but fear not! By the end of our adventure, everything will be properly in place. Contractual agreements and all that.

_Hyperactive Forever:_ Frodo is being smart!  
_Frodo_: Frodo IS so smart, isn't he? Did I mention that you are my favorite reviewer? I'm sorry to hear that you are hyperactive forever -- I took Pippin to a healer for the same thing and she gave him some special herbs.


	9. Escape and Rescue

The East Gate

Authors The Eastgaters

Cast list  
Frodo – Baylor  
Samwise – Budgielover  
Pippin – Marigold  
Merry – Llinos  
Legolas – Mainframe  
Aragorn – Nilramiel  
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker  
Gimli – Q  
Gollum – Llinos  
The Wicked Elves – Baylor & Mainframe  
Mister and Missus Tugman – Llinos

Story Editor Llinos  
Beta Marigold

Chapter 9 – Escape and Rescue

Boromir clenched his teeth and let the breath he was holding escape loudly through his nose. He'd have no luck convincing Gimli of a different course, of that he was certain. Gimli was right, when all was said and done. Still, he rankled at the idea of leaving someone behind who obviously had enough verve to sit and argue the finer points of rescuing a mission. If he couldn't convince the dwarf that he was needed, then perhaps the hobbit could. Peregrin could sell wool fleece to a sheepherder. Clearing his throat, Boromir rose to his feet, "Have it your way, Master Dwarf. Pippin will be most displeased."

Pippin was more than just displeased, he was frightened and he was angry, and he wished that he had minded what his elders had always warned him about eavesdroppers often hearing what they wished they had not. He had, in truth, started to wake up when he heard Boromir stirring, but did not want to intrude in the man's private conversation with Gimli about the loss of the dwarf's family. Pippin's turn for that would come later, and in privacy. So he had tried not to listen, pretended that he still slept, but then his two friends had begun to argue quietly.

At first Pippin could not believe it! Gimli was refusing to go on! He was going to sit here in this hole until he died while his friends went on without him. He couldn't be serious! Truly the dwarves had stiff necks! Well, so did hobbits. Pippin cracked his eyes open, just enough to see Boromir looking down at him thoughtfully and Pippin understood at once that it would be up to him to convince Gimli that he must go on. Pippin sat up, stretched and yawned.

"You are both eating without me." He pouted, only half-jestingly. Pippin fixed Gimli with a calm stare. "If we are all going to starve to death together we could at least divide up the food properly, or perhaps we should just end it quickly?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Gimli spluttered in exasperated response. "It's perfectly simple, you two have to go on and obviously I cannot come with you."

Pippin ignored this and turned to look up at Boromir, craning his neck. "I don't think I'm brave enough to do it myself Boromir, but you could kill me quickly, and I suppose it wouldn't hurt much." He looked at Gimli again. "Or perhaps Gimli can deliver your death blow and mine, as that is what he is doing anyway, because I won't leave here without both of you and that is just that."

Boromir settled down next to the hobbit, kicking his long legs out in front of him. He decided if he were going to be persuasive at all, he'd better add what he could. "There is another choice to consider. Starving to death is slow but really, after a few days not so painful."

"And how pray would you know?" Gimli challenged. "You'd not be alive to tell the tale."

Boromir ignored this and pulled out the knife he'd used to remove the hobbit's splinter. "But yes, I could easily and swiftly dispatch you, Pippin. You'd feel naught but a warm seeping of the blood from the cut in your throat. You'd feel as if you were going to sleep." He pressed it to his thumb and laid it open, the blood easily spilling to the ground showing just how sharp it was.

Pippin crossed his arms around his knees and gazed levelly at Gimli. "I know all about the stubbornness of the dwarves Gimli. Do you know much about the stubbornness of hobbits? No? Well, they can out-stubborn a dwarf any day of the week and the Took's are the most stubborn of all, and I have been accused of taking the prize even amongst my own clan. I have been called obstinate, adamant, unyielding, inflexible, obdurate, mulish, perverse, tenacious, and unswayable in my stubbornness since before I knew what any of those words meant." He fished in his pack for his pipe and settled himself comfortably, reaching out a hand to the dwarf. "Now, as we are all going to die anyway you may as well share out that Old Toby. Come and sit by me Boromir, and I will teach you how to smoke a pipe…you don't want to die without having learned to smoke a pipe properly do you?

Boromir looked over at Peregrin, his cold calculating gaze never wavering. He laid his knife between them and reached out for the pipe with one hand while sucking on his finger to staunch the blood. "Might as well see what all the fuss is about."

"Come on Gimli, hand over the pouch," Pippin persisted, "because I am not moving from this spot until I hear your oath to Aulë Himself that you will come with us, and do your best to stay alive...no promising to come along and then conveniently falling off the next precipice on purpose. And as I am the only one that can get through that little shaft you will make that promise or we will all die together. What is your choice Gimli?"

Pippin gave Gimli no chance to respond to his ultimatum, instead he picked up the knife that Boromir had set down between them and considered it carefully. He had meant what he said. He would leave neither of his comrades behind. Not looking up he spoke softly. "I will not abandon a friend to die alone, no matter what your reasoning Gimli. If you cannot continue then I will not go without you."

He met Gimli's eyes then and managed a small chuckle, surprised at how calm he felt. "I wish you would have told me your plan before I crawled through that hole though. That was about the scariest thing I have ever had to do."

There was a faint quiver in his voice but his eyes were steady as he looked at his two friends. "I know it will distress you Boromir, but when the time comes I would choose your knife please. I can't think of a death more frightening to a hobbit than starving, and I am sure my complaining about it for several days would be quite annoying. And falling asleep does not sound so terrible, and I am very tired anyway. But do not take me unawares thinking to spare my fear, I would embrace my death as bravely as Gimli will no doubt face his own, in whatever way he chooses to meet his end."

Still holding Boromir's knife he carefully slit his own thumb as Boromir had done, then, before his friends could react, gently took Gimli's hand in his and did the same. Placing the knife carefully back onto the ground Pippin took Boromir's hand, and brought it to meet his and Gimli's, pressing their three bleeding thumbs together and clasping his other small hand over the three joined hands.

"Before we were friends. Now we share blood and are kindred as well. I trust you both to do what you must do, and I place my life in your hands."

Gimli rolled his eyes and looked at Boromir, whose mouth was twitching suspiciously. "Really! Hobbits!" He muttered with an exasperated sigh. "Foolish young Took," he added gruffly, and thought he heard the man chuckle. Gimli placed his other hand on top of Pippin's small one, which still covered their cut thumbs pressed together, their blood mingling, and then Boromir placed his other hand on Gimli's.

Gimli cleared his throat and, with some embarrassment, said, "I swear by Aulë Himself that I will go with you both, and that together we shall win through to freedom, unless fate decrees otherwise." He scowled at Pippin. "Are you happy now, you meddlesome creature?"

Pippin's hand was so small in Gimli's, so hot and pulsing with life, that he felt a pang of remorse for scolding the lad. He squeezed the little hand gently before pulling his own away. "Clean that wound," he barked. "The Lord Boromir just got you clean and look what you've done." He wiped his own hand on his tunic, shaking his head over the proceedings.

Pippin smiled but said nothing, merely wiping his bloodied finger carefully on the remnants of cloth that were still wet and then popping it in his mouth to suck until the bleeding would stop.

There was an awkward pause, and then Gimli looked at Boromir. "Very well," Gimli finally said, and this time he was serious. "I will let myself lean upon a man and a hobbit. No dwarf has ever done so before, not since Durin himself walked this Middle-earth. I shall be first, and I ask you both to keep that fact to yourself." Boromir nodded and Pippin beamed. "And for the love of all dwarf-kind, don't tell that elf!"

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Reaching the edge closest to the Ring-bearer, Aragorn shrugged off his burdens and cast about for a strong vine or long branch.

The Ranger was able to tell when his shouted instructions finally penetrated Frodo's senses, the hobbit slowed, and then stopped his movements. Gollum continued to thrash nearby, out of reach of the Ring-bearer now, but closer to the overhanging tree that he had been pushed towards.

Frodo, on the other hand, was at the moment out of reach, both of tree and hand. He was shoulder deep in the fool's sand, but his face, hair and neck were covered in the stuff. The hobbit's heavy lashes had kept the muck from obscuring his eyes, and Aragorn could see in them that, although Frodo had ceased his physical struggle, he was thrashing still in his mind and heart.

A sudden venomous hiss caused the man to glance back towards Gollum. The creature was groping with his wiry arms, trying to take hold of the hanging branches above him. Again and again, his bony fingers brushed the dangling leaves, and he hissed his frustration with each grasping swipe.

"Yi! Yi! We is caught! Caught! We falling in the fool's sand and the stupid great man pulls the clumsy hobbit out – grrr!"

At once the Ranger had an idea, one that might assist more quickly than groping at the Ring-bearer with a branch.

Gesturing towards Gollum, he spoke quickly, "Samwise, keep a watch on that wretch while I fetch Frodo. I do not know what he will do if he succeeds in getting out, but I do not think it wise to turn our backs to him."

"Right you are Sir," Sam wrinkled his brow as he controlled his urge to ignore the man and leap into the fool's sand to save Frodo himself. "You will pull him out all right, won't you Sir? Only…"

Aragorn managed a crooked smile for the younger hobbit, then taking hold of the lower limbs, pulled himself up into the nearest tree and began moving along the branch closest to the sinking hobbit. As he suspected, it began to bend towards the earth. As the angle of the branch dipped lower, the Ranger stretched onto his belly and edged himself inch by inch closer to the leafy extremities. He moved as quickly as he was able, whilst being cautious, alert for sounds of splitting wood behind him. If he were to fall upon the Ring-bearer from above, it was unlikely that the stout but exhausted hobbit on the bank would be able to save either of them.

"Sam," Frodo choked out, "Sam, don't let them take It. Please, Sam, help me."

At the sound of Frodo's voice, Aragorn started, taking his focus from the smooth wood in front of him and looking towards the mire below. He was less than a staff's length from the hobbit now, and he could see naked terror outlined on Frodo's features. Did the little one actually believe that Aragorn had become a threat? That the man was after the Ring, rather than attempting to rescue him? Although he knew that the Quest was of utmost importance – more important than his own life, or the life of these young innocents that he had sworn to protect – Aragorn would have never taken the Ring from Frodo by force, or even were It offered willingly. Nay, his only design at the moment was to pull Frodo, Ring and all, from the treacherous sands, and if Frodo determined to resist him, the Ranger was unsure that it could be done.

Sam's heart twisted within him at Frodo's desperate cry, he could recognise the Ring-induced confusion in his exhausted master. The branch along which the Ranger was climbing dipped deeper and Sam prayed it would not break and mire them both in the drowning sands. If there were no other way, he would go after Frodo with all the strength of his body and at least tug his master to safety before he drowned himself. If his strength wasn't sufficient, perhaps Frodo could use his body as a bridge to make it to dry land. But right now, Sam realised he was best suited to talking a bit of common sense into his Master.

"Now, Mr Frodo," Sam called in his most _'just-you-let-Sam-take-care- of-it voice',_ "Strider's there to help you. He's going to pull you out and bring you here ta me. He won't do anything else, Sir, not after he swore and all."

What little of Frodo's face that Sam could see under the sand and muck looked confused and weary beyond words. He could not tell if his master understood his assurances. "He's almost there now, and I want you to reach up an arm to him so he can pull you out of that nasty place." Sam put a slight wheedle into his voice, knowing from years of experience how that tone both annoyed and amused Frodo.

Frodo hunched into himself in the only retreat available at the moment as Aragorn eased himself out on the limb toward him. Just as he was about to return to his struggle in one last attempt to escape these enemies, he finally registered Sam's familiar, comforting voice.

"And a hot bath you'll be needing too, Sir. There must be a bit of soap in my pack. I'll make us some tea and pull out something – you have a bite to eat and a forty winks while I wash them filthy clothes. What Mr Bilbo would say o' them clothes I can't imagine. Most likely he'd…"

Frodo blinked in confusion. Was he trying to escape Aragorn? This made no sense, but even as he sank in mire, something inside him still hissed, "Take It, they will take It."

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Looking Peregrin in the eyes Boromir settled into a somewhat perfunctory mode of operation. "I do believe we'll be needing a crutch for Gimli. Peregrin, see what you can manage. You've already produced more than adequate materials for the splint. Do you think you could conjure up another marvel? Gimli, what do you know about the locking mechanism of the interior door?"

Boromir did not miss the jolt of surprise and the suspicion on Gimli's face. "I swear by my father's God, I will not reveal anything about the hidden secrets of this Mine to anyone, including others in the Fellowship, **_when_** we reunite."

Gimli sighed. He would have to be content with this vow.

"There is a latch on the other side," Gimli said at last. "If Master Peregrin would carry a rope through the vent and tie it to the latch, I believe you may have the strength to pull it up and open."

Boromir stood up and fetched the water skins. Emptying first one and then another over his head, he laughed as he shook his head as would a wet dog. "Might as well take advantage of the water," he said as he made his way over to the well to refill the skins dragging fingers through the tangled mess of wet hair.

Pippin looked up at his words but said nothing. Boromir nodded and shook himself again, splattering Gimli with drops of chilly water.

"Stop that," Gimli said sharply. "Or else shake like a dog elsewhere. Is it the habit of Men to refresh themselves thusly? Or is it only the Men of Gondor who do so?"

Boromir gave his head an extra shake to send yet another flurry of droplets everywhere, just because he could. He was rather enjoying teasing the dwarf. He definitely understood now why Legolas baited Gimli so persistently.

After offering the water skins around for one last chance at clean water before they moved on, Boromir refilled them and untied the rope from the well's bucket. He debated tying it to Peregrin rather than letting the lad carry it though the vent and decided against such an obviously distrustful move. His lad had proved himself many times over today. He looked down at Peregrin and saw a steeled determination he'd never really noticed before. There was too much at stake and the lad knew it and would not lose his end of the rope. Whatever they might say about the youngest hobbit, the lad was growing up; fast.

"Up you go, lad! Quick about it and we'll be out of here in time to join the others for dinner or breakfast or tea or whatever it is at the time we meet up with them. I'm sure you and Frodo and Meriadoc and Samwise will have some decent hobbit name for the repast."

"It'll be my fiftieth birthday feast at this rate," The irony of Pippin's words were softened by his grin.

Pippin had made short work of making a crutch for Gimli, and the remainder of the wood and cloth he carried over to Gimli to fashion torches from while he and Boromir worked to open the door.

Pippin found himself perched again on top of the cabinet, and Boromir handed him the end of the rope. He was about to attempt the difficult entry into the tunnel, this time conscious of two sets of eyes watching him anxiously. The entry had been the most difficult part before, though certainly not the most frightening, and Pippin wondered if he would be able to execute the manoeuvre again with the rope in his hand, and decided no, he wouldn't. And none of them could risk him falling at this point.

Thinking quickly he bent and tied the rope around his left ankle where it would be out of the way. There was also the added comfort that if he should get stuck that Boromir could pull him back out. Knowing the way of it now, and where the handholds were, he climbed inside the vent and wriggled down the tunnel as fast as he could go.

Gimli leaned heavily on Pippin's makeshift crutch, wondering whether the lad would make it through safely. He closed his eyes. Boromir murmured to him, "I know he has already traversed this path, but still, I can not help but worry," and Gimli nodded, eyes still closed. He worried, too.

Pippin distracted himself from the pain and discomfort and fear by wondering just what mealtime it was…surely teatime by now? And what would he choose if he could have anything he wanted for his tea…hmmm. Scones definitely, with clotted cream and strawberry jam. And bacon…he would dearly love some bacon. Cheese! But what sort? Perhaps a bit of each of his favourite kinds, especially the smoky flavoured one his Uncle Merimac was so good at making that went so well with Aunt Esmie's twisty buttermilk bread. And a big mug of fresh warm milk and honey with nutmeg sprinkled on the top like he had had when he was just a little fellow and poorly.

Oooh, and dare he even think it…treacle tart with custard! Lots of those fat little sausages his father made at slaughtering time slathered with horseradish…mushrooms, fried with bits of bacon and onion…and then suddenly he was at the end of the tunnel and he hadn't been scared at all! Good old Boromir, thinking to distract him that way!

He was at the tricky turn, and for all of his best efforts the only way he was able to get into the open space that held the door was once again to fall in, and his attempt to cushion his head was an abysmal failure and he spat out some curse words even more colourful than before. His head started ringing and then he felt blood dripping from the already huge lump on his forehead. Perfect! Better get the damned door open before he whacked himself on something else and knocked himself unconscious.

Hurriedly relighting his candle that he had left in place, he untied the rope from his ankle and deftly tied it around the latch. He pulled on the rope three times, the signal they had agreed upon, and slowly but surely the rope became taut and the latch began to slowly lift! Pippin lent what little strength he could and pushed upwards and the latch swung over and away. One obstacle down, then.

He called back into the shaft. "The latch is open! I am going to turn the handle now!" He heard a faint response of encouragement and went back to work. It was a large round handle that was very stiff, but by pulling it with all of his might to get it started and then hanging on it with all of his weight, it turned just a little. When his feet touched the floor again, he repeated the process, then once more. This time he was rewarded with the sound of a faint snick, as though a hidden bolt had been drawn. _Oh, yes, please!_ Again he called to his companions.

"I've finished here! Push now!" _Oh, please,_ he thought. _please, let this__work_.

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Sam rambled on, fighting to keep the tension from his voice, one eye looking to his master and the other firmly fixed on that loathsome creature. Was it listening, too? It was going to pay for this, for every grain of dirty sand that soiled his master. 'Keep Mr Frodo watching you and not Strider,' Sam thought.

With wide, exaggerated movements, Sam slung off his pack and flourished it before Frodo. His movements slow and deliberate, he untied it and flung back the flap, rooting among the neatly-packed contents. "Oh, what's this, then? Soap! And look, Mr Frodo, clean blankets. I'll have them all shook out and ready for you after your bath. Can still smell a bit of the cedar in them, you can. A nice mug of hot tea, a bit of dinner and a bath and a lie-down, now don't that sound good? And look here! There might be the tiniest sack of boiled sweets that your Sam tucked away." He straightened and waved a little draw-string bag in the air. "Or maybe you'd prefer a pipe? I've got…" Sam hoped that Aragorn had been taking advantage of his distraction to edge closer to Frodo. He was running out of inanities. And they were all running out of time.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The door from their trap swung away from him and he saw the guttering flame of the candle held by his youngest student. Grinning wildly, Boromir looked from hobbit to dwarf and back again.

When the door swung away to reveal Pippin, filthy, sweating, and beaming in proud joy, Gimli opened his eyes and tried to hide his own smile in his beard. "Good lad," he muttered, and shifted on the crutch.

But how was he to get through? Pippin scarcely fit, and though Gimli was not a particularly tall dwarf, he was sturdy, and well-armoured. Bulky and heavy, he would need the help of Boromir, who stood grinning at the hobbit. "Well," Gimli said shortly. "Get yourself through. Like a cork in a bottle you'll be," he added as Boromir ducked and squeezed himself in sideways. Pippin vanished from Gimli's sight, blocked by Boromir's bulk and no doubt backing up to make room.

Boromir really did not fit, Gimli thought, shaking his head. How on Middle-earth were they to get through this most secret of secret ways? A giant and a lame dwarf, coached by a halfling.

"Ridiculous creature!" Gimli shouted at Boromir. "Get out and try again."

Boromir swore quietly as he tried to move either in or out of the doorframe, his body contorted in a painful position. He was stuck! He'd had to duck and turn sideways to attempt the barely-dwarf sized doorway and, with his pack on his back and his large frame, he'd not even made it half way through! With his head and most of his body still in the guardroom and his pack and one shoulder in the passageway, he discovered the folly of a rash decision.

"Now what are you going to do? Wait until you starve down?" Gimli called impatiently, "D'yer want a push? He added sarcastically.

Boromir took as deep a breath as he could manage, exhaled mightily and twisted as he pushed himself back into the guardroom; really the only option at the moment. He struck the side of the doorframe as he freed himself and wrenched his shoulder mightily. He swore vehemently out loud. When he couldn't move his arm to drop his pack, he swore again. Finally managing to get his pack off, he picked it up with his good arm, shouted at the hobbit to "pay heed" and angrily threw his pack into the passageway. He stomped over to where they'd set Gimli's and Peregrin's packs and grabbing both, swearing again at the pain in his shoulder he didn't even wait until he reached the doorway before hurling both, with a practiced aim, through the door. He watched as Peregrin ducked and dodged and then made to fetch the abused packs without a word.

Boromir turned away and took another deep breath to calm himself. It would not do to lose himself now. He hadn't realised how close to the surface his impatience rode and how something as small as a bruised shoulder would cause it to flare up. Another deep breath and he felt he just might be able to face his comrades and get on with the task at hand.

Gimli had watched with grim amusement as Boromir wrenched himself out of the passageway, but his humour died as he realised that the man had injured himself. Truly, they were an ill-fated Fellowship. He sighed and tugged on his beard.

Pippin remained silent from the other side, so Gimli knew he also understood the situation. No cheery piping words of encouragement drifted back to the dwarf, just the scuffling sounds of the lad setting the battered packs to rights.

"Very well," Gimli said at last. "Let's think this through before ye try again. You are a bit bigger than most dwarves; it would do well for us to remember that fact." Boromir nodded sharply but looked away, clearly vexed at the situation. "How d'ye propose to get me through?"Gimli continued. "Drag me like a piece of baggage? Or push me like a wheelbarrow full of ballast? Or perhaps have young Pippin carry me through?"

Boromir was in a foul mood. His shoulder ached something fierce. He'd bruised it for certain. It was much worse than he'd originally thought when he forced himself free of the doorframe. When rock meets flesh, flesh usually loses he thought darkly, glaring at the dwarf, as if it were Gimli's own personal fault that he, Boromir, had made a rash move, possibly costing them more time and adding to the difficulty and danger of their escape.

"I think I'll just pick you up and have you take the same path as the packs. They bounced, I think," he said sourly. "Stand aside little one, this may get messy!" he yelled through the passageway, though he made no move to carry out his threat.

Gimli bared his teeth at the man and drew himself up to his full height, shifting the crutch to do so. "Take one step toward me, my lad, and your thick skull may finally be defeated." The two glared at each other for a long moment, and then Gimli sighed, and slumped heavily. His leg pained him greatly, far more than he was willing to admit; he was tired, worried, and not in the mood for further disaster.

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Another voice made itself heard over Sam's, sounding old beyond its years, and weary, and heart-broken. "No, but It may take them, or you. How are you ever to destroy this Evil that has cost you so dearly? We have barely begun this journey, and yet look already at the toll.

"You could end it here. Even the minions of the Dark Lord would be hard pressed to discover the Ring at the bottom of a pit of fool's sand. You have nearly sunk now, 'twould not be much effort to finish it. And then you could rest, and lay down these burdens."

Frodo recognized this as his own voice of grief and despair, but that did not help him fight it off, and for a moment his body stiffened as the two wills – the Ring's and Frodo's defeat – strove for superiority.

Then another voice entered into his head as clear as a bell, and it silenced all others.

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Pippin heard the angry voices back in the chamber and sighed. Was it only hobbits that seemed capable of getting along with every race? He'd be making friends with an orc next, for pity's sake! He scuttled through before anything else heavy - say Gimli for example - could be hurled in his direction, and stepped between the two potential combatants trying to be charming and reasonable instead of annoyed and anxious.

"Is something wrong? Nothing worth two friends arguing over surely? We are almost free of here – well, free of this little room at least." He scrubbed absently at the lump on his forehead. It was still bleeding again from his last fall and he had a headache and was in no mood for this, but he was the son of the Thain and the nephew of the Master and had seen enough disputes mediated to know that a calm voice and rationality was what was needed here, not the whinging of a hurt child.

Pippin ignored the glares passing between the two and pointed to the arrow slit high above. "It looks like the day is getting on, and we should go. I don't know how far it is to an exit but I am sure we don't want to spend another night in these Mines…no offence Gimli. And I know it's a tight fit for you Boromir, but not nearly so tight as that vent was for me and it's ever so much shorter, and there are no twists or turns and I have the candle lit in there now so it's not at all dark and scary."

"I do not fear the dark, little one," Boromir kept his eyes fixed pointedly on the dwarf, "Just the dark humour of some."

The hobbit tutted and looked at the doorway again, thinking quickly. "Boromir, instead of going headfirst if you back in just a short way, then Gimli, you could fall back into Boromir's arms and he can drag you through. I will stay here and come last, and help with getting your poor leg in without bumping it too much. And I'll bring your crutch when I come after."

He looked from one to the other hopefully, smiling brightly, confidence that the problem had been solved exuding from every pore. His Da and his Uncle Saradoc would have been proud.

"All right then? All sorted out? Let's go shall we…I want to get back to the others. I need to see they are all right and how Merry is faring. He needs me, I know he does. He will be worrying himself terribly that I am not there and I won't have him hurting anymore than he already does because I am loitering about when I should be trying to get to him as quickly as I can. Come along now."

He gave Boromir a friendly little nudge toward the door and beamed up at him with his best smile, one that had won him many an extra tart or last slice of cake in his time, then gave a bit of a tug on Gimli's cloak and gave him an encouraging grin.

Gimli stared down at the little creature appealing to him so charmingly. Pippin was bleeding, filthy and battered, yet trying to assuage the bickering of his two much larger companions and Gimli's heart went out to him. He'd been unconscious at the point when the lad had so bravely wriggled his way through that small dark place, another birthing into a dark and terrifying world.

"Ah, Pippin," he said, when the hobbit finally fell silent. "We Big Folk are the ones loitering. Don't tug at me now, not with my leg." He shifted on his crutch, then said to Boromir, "Here, man. Have you not something with which to bandage this lad's wound? His cousins will be right sharp with us if we return him in this state." He studied Pippin, disbelieving the exuberant performance. "You need another bath," he finally said. "And a haircut." Pippin rolled his eyes.

"What say you, Boromir of the lad's plan? You've injured your arm; don't deny it, I see your discomfort. Can you catch me?" Gimli did not ask: _Would you catch me?_' But his look into Boromir's heavy-lidded eyes asked the question for him.

Boromir stepped back surprised and a little off balance after Peregrin nudged him. Looking down at the childlike face smiling up at him, Boromir began to feel chagrined. "No, fear not Master Dwarf. As you well know, I keep my promises when I state, 'I will not let you fall'. Come now, the sooner we start, the sooner we finish."

He grabbed his shield and Gimli's one unsheathed axe and walked back to the passageway. He had to toss his shield onto the packs but thought twice about tossing the axe. He'd brain anyone who mistreated **_his_** weapons so he suspected the same treatment should the dwarf catch him heaving one of the cherished dwarven blades, even if it were done carefully. "Pippin-lad. Seeing how you are so good at disarming people, would you take Gimli's weapons and my sword and put them safely on the other side? We need to be as light as possible to do this juggling act."

Pippin hid a sigh of relief and a smile at Boromir's comment about his being good at disarming people. No doubt the man had thought that he would not understand the jest, he laughed to himself. Pippin knew where his talents lay when it came to certain things.

Pippin made several trips through the entrance carrying the various items. Boromir's sword was heavy, and the hobbit was taken aback, remembering all of the training sessions the man had had with Merry and him; it must have been difficult for Boromir to control the blade and not knock them halfway back to Rivendell when he had countered their feeble blows!

Gimli's axe too was heavy and yet the dwarf carried it as though it were nothing! How amazingly strong these companions of his were! He scrambled back into the chamber after his last trip and waited to help get Gimli into the exit. Then they could leave this little chamber once and for all to go and find the others!

Boromir handed the last of the recently filled water skins to Peregrin when he saw the hobbit re-enter the guardroom and stand, as the lad often did after accomplishing something for which he was immensely proud, with his hands on his hips. Boromir fought the desire to ruffle Peregrin's hair. He had recently become aware that ruffling hair irritated Frodo and Samwise although not necessarily Peregrin and sometimes not Meriadoc. He suspected it was something to do with age and station besides just basic temperament but halfling society was still a very large mystery to him. While it was easy to just reach out and tousle the curly little head that barely reached to his waist, he refrained this time. Best treat the youngling as an adult, Boromir suspected he'd have to call on Peregrin a few more times before they met up with the others.

Gimli's not so quiet "hrumph" broke Boromir's thoughts.

"Let us not tarry here in the gloaming. Not whilst the clear fresh air of freedom calls sweetly to us. Master dwarf, ready thyself! Be thou stout of sinew and brave of heart!" He waved his arms theatrically as he slipped into an ancient accent he'd learned while studying dry, witless history with his tutor. His tutor had often amused Boromir and Faramir by slipping into ridiculous accents to keep their attention.

As he backed into the passageway he caught Peregrin hiding a smile. This time Boromir was very careful to make sure both his shoulders went through. He had to turn sideways still and nearly double over. Without pack and other encumbrances he fitted, though when he stood up too soon a resounding **_thud_** was heard by all three. The awful hollow sound was followed by copious swearing. He didn't even try to spare the lad's ears this time! Any good mood had vanished.

"Are you ready, Master Boromir?" Gimli shouted, breaking through the barrage of vulgarity. "Dwarves may be shorter than men, but you'll find we are no less substantial. More, perhaps, since we are greater in breadth and depth."

Boromir muttered and Pippin gave Gimli a grin. "Take my crutch, lad," Gimli said to him, "once I'm a bit closer to the opening." He manoeuvred himself carefully until he stood balanced on the threshold. "Here you go." Pippin took the crutch, his smile gone. "Boromir!" Gimli shouted again. "Catch me well, my boy, or you will catch it hot from both Pippin and me." He took a deep breath, cast a fond thought to his father and cousins at home, and tried to relax. "Say something, man, before I fling myself into the abyss!"

The man knelt down and turned sideways to get more of one arm and his good shoulder back through the opening. "Good Master Gimli, I am quite ready." He touched Gimli's back to let him know he was there before he reached around the massive torso. Just before Gimli trusted himself to Boromir's strength, Boromir thrust a leg out and between the dwarf's legs effectively throwing Gimli off balance and forcing the dwarf to collapse. Boromir hoped this would work, that he wouldn't drop Gimli and that no one would crack their skull this time.

Gimli relaxed and began to let himself go. When Boromir kicked at him, he toppled, crying, "Khazâd aimênu!" as he fell. "My leg, you half-witted man, my leg!" He collided heavily against Boromir, who grunted at Gimli's sudden weight. Durin, he thought as the pain washed through him, let me live long enough to kill this son of Gondor. And then he knew no more.

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Merry was searching desperately. He was floundering around in blackness and he needed a light. _'Grandmamma, where are you?_' He called out plaintively. The last time he had been in this blackness Grandmamma Gilda had found him and rocked his anguish away. But then she had sent him back to his hurting body. Perhaps that was where he was meant to be, but right now it was too painful there.

'Merry, my dear, why are you back?' Merry could not see her, but he could hear her voice. 'You can only stay with me for a short while, then you must return. You are only sleeping, but I know you are hurt, so come here my precious one.'

Merry allowed himself to be enfolded once more. It was strange, but each time he found his Grandmother, he was more like the child he had been when she died. It was as if they took up where they left off and he was a youngling of 12 again. "Grandmamma it hurts too much there. Must I keep going back? I can't find Pippin and I'm no use to the others now, what can I do for them when I'm so wounded?"

"Well my child, there are still things you can do to help." Grandmamma swept her hand out in front of her as if she were removing a cloth from a table. "Look Merry, Frodo needs help right now, or he might be joining us sooner than he should."

Merry looked in horror. Frodo was sunk up to his armpits in some kind of swamp. He was covered in filthy sand and mud and appeared to be arguing with himself. Merry could hear him quite clearly even though his lips did not move. It was as though he was able to listen directly inside Frodo's mind as his cousin sank further into the cloying mire.

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Aragorn was impressed with Sam's composure, considering the circumstances. Besides watching his beloved master drown right before him, he had a very dangerous Gollum, who could regain safety at any moment, within a stone's throw. Yet Sam spoke to his friend as a nursemaid speaks to an adored child, and began opening his pack as if determined to set up camp right then and there.

As Sam prattled on, Frodo's attention sluggishly shifted from the suspended Ranger to his servant on the bank. As soon as this began to happen, Aragorn recommenced inching along the branch even though it bent precariously. More jarring and, intermingled with Sam's soft chattering, there was a harsh screeching from the wretched creature that had pushed Frodo into the bog in the first place.

"Not let the hobbit sinksses, No, no, poor Sméagol drowns in the sand… hurrhmp! ooff! Wicked man lets us die, but has to save hiss preciousss hobbitsess!

But, oblivious to both, a new voice rang clearly in Frodo's head, its familiarity taking away the depressed and murky thoughts. _"Well, this is all muck,"_ it said. _"You'd best reach out for Aragorn now, or it's all been for nothing. And I wouldn't worry about him trying to take the Ring, not with Sam about. He may be a Ranger, but he'll be a dead Ranger if he tries to harm you. Never underestimate a gardener and all, you know."_

It was Merry's no-nonsense, assured voice, and Frodo answered automatically in his mind, _"Don't use that language, Pippin will hear."_

The Merry-voice ignored him and continued on, _"Sometimes I wonder where all the Brandybuck in you has got to. There's nothing to do but let Aragorn pull you out and then there's nothing to do but go on. Sam will see that you have a rest and bite first, at least. You'll feel better then. But for now, try being a sensible hobbit for a change and reach for Aragorn's hand."_

The Ranger wrapped his legs securely around the bough and rolled his shoulders a few times. Frodo may be only a hobbit, and a thin one at that, but he still wore his pack, and he was soaked through with the heavily clinging fool's sand. Strong as the man was, he was weary and he expected it would be no easy task to lift the hobbit from the mire whilst extended on his belly along a tree branch.

Frodo had become very still, apparently listening – whether to Sam or to something within himself, the Ranger did not know. For several eternal heartbeats, the man lay still, arms loose, listening along with Frodo to the soothing voice of Sam from the bank. Just as he determined he would have to try and reach out and make a grab, Frodo spoke.

"You have no respect for your elders," the hobbit mumbled, and he reached his hand towards the Ranger.

Aragorn was startled, but not so startled as to miss this opportunity. He grasped Frodo's proffered forearm with his right hand and hauled him up, out of the sticky sand, levering himself into a sitting position at the same time. Frodo offered no more help in his own rescue, but the Ranger was able to draw him up onto the life saving bough and into his arms.

He tightened his thighs on the limb and pulled the filthy hobbit against his chest, heart pounding with adrenaline and relief, ignoring the still strident tones of the wretch who had caused this near disaster.

"Precious! Yes but he saves the Precious too. Good man, nice man. Saves the Precious for Sméagol."

"Mr Frodo! Strider!" shouted Sam, "you've got to get down from there! The branch is about to break!"

Clasping Frodo tightly to his breast with his left arm and bracing with his right, the man used his powerful thigh muscles to edge backward along the branch until he was above dry land.

Frodo blinked sluggishly as Sam shouted urgently. "Get down!" registered in his fuzzy, over exhausted mind. "Must I?" some whining part of him answered, but some other part had already taken over his arms. He dragged himself from Aragorn's arms, sliding down the Ranger's body until he reached solid ground.

The branch, not satisfied with the removal of only Frodo's slight weight, creaked again. Sparing only a brief look at Gollum, Aragorn swung himself down. The freed limb sprang back at once, seeming to sigh its relief. The Ranger patted the bough, as if in thanks, and unconsciously brushed the clinging sands from the front of his clothing.

In a dim and distant reality, Frodo could hear his antithesis escaping the bog at the same time. In some strange reality it almost seemed to Frodo that the voice was in his head with Merry.

"Grrumpp uooff! There – we pulls ourselves up and up. Get good hold on the strong grass. Sméagol not weigh too much, not sink with big fat feet like the thieving, sneaky hobbit. We not got big man to drag us out! We have to save ourselves Precious. Pull and pull! Find the safe ground now. Goll-umm, Goll-umm. Kershshoo! Achh! Nasty sand in our mouthsess. Stupid peoples!

Then, finally, Frodo allowed himself to collapse in a heap and shut his eyes.

_"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"_ the Merry-voice said in his mind. _"You're such a nitwit sometimes, Frodo, really."_

"Soap, Merry," Frodo muttered, a holdover threat from Merry's childhood that usually shut the cheeky younger hobbit up quickly. As he lost consciousness, he thought he heard Merry's mischievous laughter fading away – or was it Gollum?

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Merry had clutched his Grandmother's hand tightly as he watched Aragorn try to pull Frodo from the bog, but his cousin, caught in despair and grief, would not reach out his hand. Merry sighed and, without knowing quite how, began to talk to Frodo.****

"Well, this is all muck," he said and then frantically babbled on, telling him things he already knew but had obviously forgotten temporarily. Merry realised he was finally listening when he muttered something about his language and Pip hearing.

Frodo was being even more ridiculous Merry thought. How could Pippin hear him? He carried on, "Sometimes I wonder where all the Brandybuck in you has got to." Merry chattered, distracting Frodo from his gloom and persuading him that he had to trust Aragorn and that Sam would still be there for him.

"You have no respect for your elders," Frodo muttered aloud, and finally reached out his hand.

"I say that's just as well Frodo Baggins," he retorted. But there was no need. Frodo was safe now and Merry turned back to his Grandmother with a happy smile. "Oh Grandmamma Gilda, I think that I actually saved dear Frodo! He might have sunk in that wretched bog if he hadn't heard me."

"You did indeed, my darling." Gilda pretend tweaked his nose as she always used to, "my clever lad."

"Frodo can be such a nitwit sometimes," Merry giggled a little.

"Now, don't you get too cheeky, he's your older cousin remember," Gilda scolded.

"But can I see Pippin now? Merry rubbed at his nose as if checking it was still there. "Perhaps he needs me too."

"No, Merry my dear one," Gilda stroked his hair fondly, "You must go back now, I cannot stay with you. Try to find your way, there's my good brave lad… promise me you will now?"

"Yes Grandmamma," Merry agreed meekly, "I'll try. Can I come back if I don't find the way?"

"Yes, of course my darling, if you need me again, I'll be here… waiting… but it's not time yet…" Gradually his Grandmother's voice faded to nothing and Merry was once more in the darkness.

Frantically he turned his head this way and that, it seemed to be the only part of his body he could move. Just then he thought he heard Pippin's voice. 'Pip where are you? I'm coming, where are you?" Merry forgot his promise to try and find his way back, the thought of Pippin pushing everything else from his consciousness. For a moment he caught a glance of Pippin, he was moving away from Merry, scrabbling around in a dark, narrow tunnel and seemed not to see or hear his cousin.

"Pippin? Pippin! Please, where are you? Don't leave me!" Merry turned his head from side to side, frantically seeking anything familiar, but knowing with a sinking heart that Pippin would not be there. His head felt full of wool and his mouth tasted like the bad meat they'd once had to eat on the journey, when they were unable to find any game and their supplies were almost spent.

A woman's voice sounded close by, so Merry struggled to sit up, but found his arms would not support him and that dreadful pain was back, slicing across his chest and making him gasp for breath.

Then the memory of what had happened struck him like a slap across the face as he still struggled with complete consciousness. Gandalf falling with the great fiery monster; the fight to escape the mines; Pippin slipping and falling; the troll throwing him; losing his sword and then… then…

Merry cried out in anguish, a sobbing entreaty for Pippin to be there and this nightmare to end. "Pip! Please! Come back, don't leave me!"

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"Hush now child, don't go vexing thysen," The woman's calloused hand came down and stroked his face. Merry whimpered with anxiety and pain. "Lie quiet, lie still. Oi'll nay give thee more'n the poppy, not one as young as thee. It'll finish thee for sure, if'n Oi do."

"Please Ma'am," Merry was feverish and weak but he had to speak, "Where am I? What happened?"

"Oi found thee," A deep timbre of a male voice answered. "Thought thee were dead an all. Found thee a'floating down the river. Can thee tell to us, how thee came there?"

Merry furrowed his brow, he really had no memory of much after the fight in the Mines… except being carried, he was being carried by someone. Legolas! That was it. But the elf had put him down for some reason. Perhaps he was too great a burden and had decided that Merry would soon be dead anyway.

"W-was elf… but left me… in woods… don't recall…" Merry weakly stuttered a few words but was cut short when the woman gently lifted his head up and, cradling him to her ample chest, put a cup to his lips and slowly helped him to drink the warm milk laced with honey.

"See!" The man exclaimed. "Oi told thee Missus Tugman it'd be them elfs. They been a'stealing this little boy away from his mither and ferther and torturing he afore leaving he int' woods fer the wargs and wolves."

"Well theys not get he agin!" Missus Tugman exclaimed indignantly. "Oi'll not let they near my sweet little one. Oi'll do fer any elfs what comes near he agin!"

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"Brother truly since you became Marchwarden you are no fun!" Rúmil teased.

Haldir bit back a scathing remark and settled for grinding his teeth while the prince tried unsuccessfully to suppress a chuckle. "Be thankful your brothers are not constantly at your side ," he groused and sent a glare at Rúmil, who grinned at him widely.

"Actually watching you three makes me wish they were," he smiled.

"You would not say that if you were the eldest!" He glared, but could not keep a small smile from forming.

Orophin had been listening to this line of banter for the last ten minutes, it was instigated by Rúmil who had noticed Legolas's darkening mood and was determined to lighten the elf's demeanour. In that respect, he mused; Rúmil was much like their older brother. Haldir had always made light of matters when either of them was troubled as elflings and, though he showed that side rarely these days, it was good to know that despite his reputation for being the opposite, he was still the same Haldir. But his position certainly had taken much of the carefree nature and spontaneity from him and both he and Rúmil lived for the day when he would not be so burdened.

"Well? What are they saying?" Orophin demanded, after listening to the warble of sound from within for a few minutes, unsuccessfully trying to decipher it.

"Shuuuu, I can't understand…what language are they using?" Legolas enquired.

"Don't look to me, I don't speak any Westron." Rúmil mumbled unhelpfully.

"That is Westron?" The prince gasped as he then recognised a few words before it once again descended into chaos.

"Yes, the local dialect is very thick in these parts," Haldir's frown deepened as he spoke, not liking the turn the conversation was taking inside the cabin.

"So you understand them?" Legolas' eyes briefly flicked to his before returning to Merry's restless form. He watched as the woman reappeared and after a short time pulled Merry to her as he tried to speak. His concern for his young friend grew a notch as he listened to Merry's confusion, 'Elbereth! Please don't tell me he has a fever…or his wounds are infected…or…' But his thoughts were broken as Haldir answered his question.

"Some, but not all. They know your friend was carried by an elf but, as I expected, they have jumped to the wrong conclusion!" He seethed, unconsciously watching Orophin before continuing. "They think that the perian is a human child and that we have stolen him away from his parents to torture him and leave him to wargs in the woods!"

Silence followed his translation and allowed Haldir to absorb the fact that wargs must be quite common here now for the man to mention them so freely, this information he filed away for later before turning his attention to Legolas who remained at the window drinking in the sight of his young charge. Orophin and Rúmil wisely decided to remain silent; they knew their brother's stance on the matter.

At length Legolas spoke, "We must reach him as soon as we may, he seems far more muddled than the last time I was with him and I must check his wound."

Haldir agreed, they could all smell the heavy scent of blood and sickness from inside the cabin and the Marchwarden knew that only in the hands of elven healers would the hobbit recover. "We shall wait until those two have retired and then we will take him back. Orophin you will remain here and watch for orcs or humans, who knows how many more of them there may be around here. If you find any you know what to do. Rúmil you will go with him.

Rúmil frowned, Haldir had effectively ensured that neither of the two would come into contact with the elderly humans, a fact which had not escaped Orophin either as his face mirrored his brother's. Rúmil was about to protest but Haldir's eyes brooked no argument, they were as cold as an ice-covered river, all warmth drained from them and his stance was aggressive, it made Rúmil shiver as Haldir withdrew from them, wrapping his position around himself as he rose to his full height.

Rúmil realised with a start that this whole business had disturbed his brother greatly, bringing back old memories of another place, and other humans, long candlelit nights keeping vigil over Orophin's battered form, listening to his laboured breaths and sadly noting his natural glow dim a little further by each morning. 'You take too much upon yourself dear brother… you cannot keep us safe forever.' He smiled and it grew wider as he watched the set of his brother's shoulders relax a little at the silent communication.

When Orophin and Rúmil were safely positioned in the willow overhanging the right side of the cabin, Haldir turned back to Legolas who remained kneeling at the window.

"You and I will enter, I shall keep your path clear while you take back the hobbit," he whispered.

"Merry." Legolas spoke in a detached way that surprised him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"His name is Merry, Haldir."

"Yes, forgive me. We will take back Merry" Haldir could see that Legolas was blaming himself for their current predicament and prayed to the Lady that this night went as planned, it was a simple enough task.

A little over an hour they kept vigil until the candles were extinguished and the humans moved to their sleeping area. Haldir waited until he heard soft snores from the bedroom before he and Legolas moved soundlessly to the strong wooden door and opened it.

The hinge creaked protesting the movement as they stepped into the darkened room Legolas' eyes were only for the little one and he quickly crossed to Merry's side. The hobbit stirred as he placed a cool pale hand upon his brow slowly allowing himself the luxury of running his fingers through his thick curls freshly washed he noted. As Merry stirred further and released a soft moan, Legolas bent to his ear and began to speak to him in elvish all the while moving his fingers through his hair and delighting in the small smile that graced Merry's lips. It was the first the elf had seen since his injury and it filled Legolas with new hope.

"All will be well soon Merry, I promise" He whispered at last as he gently lifted him and held him still as Haldir helped secure the blanket around him.

It was in that moment of distraction for Haldir as he aided Legolas that the door to the bedroom opened and the human woman who had tended Merry let loose a bloodcurdling scream.

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TO BE CONTINUED

Notes

Hullo, folks. Sam Gamgee, at your service and your families. What with Mr Frodo sinking in quicksand and everyone else being a tad busy, I was asked if I could step in and reply to your kind comments. Ahem, with a little help from Mr Boromir.

**_Hyperactive Forever: _**is it ok if some parts made me laugh even if this is an angst story? i hope so or i'm in trouble...  
**_Sam_** You sure are full of questions! You sound like Master Pip. In my opinion, it's all right to laugh here and there. I wouldn't laugh at Mr Frodo when he's thrashing about in sinking sand though … for a gentlehobbit, he's got wicked aim with that sling.  
**_Boromir_** - Laughter in hard times is indeed appropriate behaviour, especially if one is going to have a mental breakdown from too much serious thinking. My weapons teacher always laughed hysterically when he belted me from behind with a sneak attack.  
**_HyperactiveForever _**- hm is Gollum going to have a 'part to play' in this story, or are they referring to his part to play in the Mount Doom sequence?  
**_Boromir_**: We have so many wonderful additional characters coming into the stew, some we have heard from before (or will hear from in the future) and some are additions only recently heard from. All of them are wonderful assets to a story as long-winded, I mean difficult to manage, I mean intricate. Yes, intricate as this one.

**_Periantari_**: i wish i could find them a nice bed for all of them! (and much comfort as well)  
**_Sam_** Thanks so much for the kind words, and hugs back (if I may be so bold). I agree that all of us poor souls need a nice bed and a bath or three. A meal would be nice, too. And some sleep. And any pipe-weed, if you've have it?  
**_Periantari_** - and Pippin is so brave with everything! so proud of his strength ) :hugs to all the East-gaters:: keep up the good work! (and save Frodo soon! ;) )  
**_Boromir_** - Thank you for the accolades in our story writing. We love to hear so specifically how you liked our little ramblings about the Mines. Yes, Pippin is a brave little lad, so full of mischief sometimes but always a chipper little trouper, eh? I must go now, I have an appointment to help save Frodo BOTOR.

**_Maripo5a_**: I WANT MORE!! (Also enjoying the back story – quite intrigued  
**_Sam_** So glad you found the story! And here's more, just like you asked for. As for "Behind the Scenes at the East Gate," well… all I can say is that after all that running and hiding and fighting and awful things happening, the writers went a little mental. "Behind the Scenes" is the result.  
**_Maripo5a_** - Wowza! Just found this yesterday and have now read all 8 chapters.  
**_Boromir_** - You read all eight chapters in one sitting? I believe there must be some sort of award available. If not, then I shall ask my father if he might see fit to bestow one. I have trouble just sitting through one chapter of listening to the whinging and complaining. Really, you should be on this side of the pen. I am becoming very fearful of the suggested group hugs to remedy the angst and pain felt by many of my fellow travellers.

**_My-fool-of-a-took_**i think its cute how legolas misses Gimli's banter. :)_  
**Sam**:_ Have to say that you might not think Mr Legolas and Mr Gimli's banter so amusing if you had 'ta listen to months of it on the Road … months and months and months of it…  
**_My-fool-of-a-Took_** - hmm yes, i agree: hugs all around, for all hobbits!  
**_Boromir_** - Stop it with the hugs, I beg you. If the hobbits start hugging then they insist that every one else join in. Hugs are neither manly nor hunky. I have a valuable reputation to protect and these incessant requests for hugs is beginning to take its toll on my sanity. I am truly beginning to worry. The Elf seems to have no problems with hugs and I have seen in the recent past that the Dwarf is warming up to the idea. Sigh. No rest for the respectful.

**_Auntiemeesh_**The whole splinter incident had me in tears of laughter. (Sorry, Pippin.) It reminds me of a certain story from the FotR EE DVD._  
**Sam**: _After all that lad's been through, I think the splinter was just the last straw. And I know the story you're thinking of, I do. As for Mr Frodo, you should see the look on his face while in that sinking sand.  
**_Boromir_** - Yes, it is hard to keep a straight face when Peregrin displays youthfulness, isn't it? One either wishes to cuddle him (did I just say that?) or brain him.  
**_AuntieMeesh_** - Poor Frodo. He's wounded and exhausted and now he's been thrown in quicksand. Hopefully he'll get himself under control soon, however, or there won't be enough of him above the surface for Aragorn to grab hold of.  
**_Boromir_**: We are all hoping Frodo, BOTOR, manages to haul his sorry aging arse out of the bog. As I have stated before, there is a minor fact remaining that something must be done with The Ring and it must be done soon. I will pass on your request and see if it speeds him along at all.

**_Lindahoyland_**: Did you get the splinter idea from one of the documentaries about FOTR ?  
**_Sam_** I'd have to ask Master Pip but I have my suspicions. He's not one to let a good "ouchie" go to waste.  
**_Boromir_**: The Splinter. Despite common theory, that story did not surface at the expense of Samwise. It is a true tale from my childhood. Unfortunately.  
**_LindaHoyland_** - Great story,you have me very worried about Frodo now and I love the way Gimli is so noble and self sacrificing,  
**_Boromir_** - Gimli, noble? Considering staying behind while Peregrin and I flounder aimlessly around those HUGE caverns without a guide? I suspect you need to reconsider your verbiage in describing our thick-necked friend.

**_Smalldiver_**Legolas' love for the hobbits is so touching! And it's so sad that Orophin got hurt so badly by humans. Sometimes I hate us... And that blimmin' Gollum!_  
**Sam**: _Now, Smalldiver, there's good and bad in all of us, Men included. Excepting that slinker, of course. I agree with your sentiments about _him.  
_**_SmallDiver_** - Hugs to everyone (even Gimli, Aragorn and Boromir, since I know they secretly love hugs)  
**_Boromir_** - AAARRRRGGGG! More hugs. I feel an incredible need to run away, very fast. And as for me masking "fluffiness", I must complain, tactfully of course, that never in my life have I ever been fluffy or ever plan to be. I do appreciate however the comment about the Dwarf and I being under appreciated. We feel the same way.__

**_Domstygerr_** OMG, where to begin.  
**_Sam_** I feel that way a lot. Also, how did this happen? I knew this journey with Mr Frodo wouldn't be no bed of roses, but I wasn't expecting _this_.  
**_DomsTygerr_** - Merry darling, please take care in what you are doing, you actions may prove to be harmful to you and that worries me greatly. and... Gollum, will you just piss off already, you are starting to really make me mad. You days are numbered I think.  
**_Boromir_** - One can hope the odious and slimy Gollum would indeed piss off. Unfortunately, I have had a peek at the end of this tale and I will let you in on a little spoiler... he is around for just a bit longer. Sad, but true.  
Might I caution you, just as a friend, to be careful about verbally pronouncing your love to so many males? We tend to be proprietary and by the looks of your screen name, you seem to have some affinity for Meriadoc. Are you a member by chance of The Pervy Hobbit Fanciers Anonymous? I personally have found it a worthwhile group, helping many people who enjoy the company of more than one hobbit to overcome their desire for more.  
**_Merry_**: You leave her alone, Mr Gon(I'm too hunky for my studded leather)dorian! She has magnificent taste!

**_Ringmarciel_** Bah who cares about Frodo? Not me... at least not movie Frodo. I like book Frodo much more. Poor Pippin separated from Merry. I hope Merry gets healed by the elves or Aragorn.  
**_Sam_**He'd be right hurt if he thought you really meant that, RingmarcielMr Frodo is a brave one, for being a gentlehobbit and not an Adventure like old Mr Bilbo. As for Master Pip and Mr Merry … we hobbits are a resilient folk. You'll just have to watch and see.  
**_Boromir_** - Well, excuse me, but try as I might, I find myself caring about Frodo quite a bit. At least until I get my hands on The Ring. I mean, at least until he finds himself and gets rid of That Ring.  
I, too, hope Aragorn can heal Meriadoc. He had better do something worthwhile other than run off and leave us to die in the Mines.  
**_Merry_**: Thank you for your get-well-soon message. I'm battling insurmountable odds with little or no help, but my magnificence should prevail.

**_Azaelia_** Finding this made me so happy... Some of the best fanfiction writers on the internet all working together! Excellent work!_  
**Sam**: _While we thank you for the compliment, miss, I might point out, lass,that _you_ aren't the one who's been chased and hunted and…When this is all over, I'm going to suggest to the rest of the Fellowship we find out where these writers live. And pay them a visit. I'll hold the whetstone while Mr Gimli sharpens his axe.  
**_Boromir_** - We are honoured and pleased to have brought a ray of sunshine into your living space, especially since you tacitly admit to reading the authors' other works AND took the time to send so many of us a cheerful note. Hopefully, we will not disappoint you by making our authors write terrible and horrid words in the next chapter.

**_Elwyna_**I feel awfully sorry for Gimli however, he shouldn't sacrifice himself like that!  
**_Sam_**Don't you worry, miss. Mr Gimli's a strong one, and a wise one too. He'll do what's best and no mistake.  
**_Boromir_** - Do not feel sorrow for the Dwarf. He admittedly got himself into his predicament and I, for one, am getting rather tired of carrying peoples' sorry arses out of predicaments. Well, except maybe Peregrin's. It is by no means "sorry".

**_Navana Baggins:_**Well Frodo better stop struggling in whatever that is...quicksand or mud or else I will punish him severely! Smiles sweetly Just joking!  
**_Sam_**Mr Frodo don't always do what's best for him, miss – I've found that out through the years. Master Pippin takes after him in that. Gentlehobbits can be a bit odd, if you ask me. Why, I remember one time when … er … well, maybe Mr Frodo wouldn't like me telling you about that.  
**_Boromir_** - You must belong to that Pervy Hobbit Fanciers group, I have heard so much about. They certainly go in for punishment and watching others' torments. Might I suggest a helpful alternative, The Pervy Hobbit Fanciers Anonymous? Most helpful. Sincere. And you get to bring a hobbit to your first meeting.__

**_Camellia Gamgee-Took_**I cannot believe that I've only just discovered this story! 'tis amazing! I'm glad they've found Merry...but why do I get the feeling that it won't be easy for them to get Merry back?  
**_Sam_** Welcome, lass! As sore hurt as Mr Merry is, I have a bad feeling that you're right.  
**_Boromir_** - Have YOU ever been injured so severely? Definitely time to call in some hunky, manly man to help out, I say.  
**_Merry_**: Well you're welcome to try Boromir, Legolas isn't having much luck.

**_Pippinheart_**: Love it! Please continue it soon... It all fits together so perfectly...  
**_Sam_** That's entirely due to Llinos, Pippinheart. There were over 500 pages of angst-ridden action, from multiple viewpoints, that Llinos whipped into a cohesive story and Marigold beta'ed. A task akin to carrying the Ring to Mt. Doom, if you take my meaning.

**_Freya_**May I humbly give my greatest thanks for sharing the story of Merry chasing Legolas up a tree with his Lore! Also, I am especially indebted to you for exploring the friendship between Legolas and Merry themselves. It is not explored very often, and I enjoy the bond there.  
**_Sam_**I can speak for all of us, I think, in sending you thanks.I agree that the Legolas/Merry adventure is one of the most heart-wrenching, exciting plots in the story. And don't you think Mr Merry isn't lapping up every "ooo" and "ahhh," too.  
**_Merry_**: Very possibly Samwise, however I do resent the implication that Legolas was driven up a tree because he was bored! He **_said_** he was admiring the view!

**_Mystarri_** I checked day after day for an update!_  
Sam: _Wouldn't want the updates to come too quick, would you?Where would the fun be in that?  
**_Boromir_** - Your wait is over! It has arrived. Read on, enjoy and more hobbit tortures we have devised ... ooops, wait, I meant to say, Read on and enjoy, we are ever so happy to please you.

**_Ice Ember_** You should know by now that hobbits are perceptive. Love your story!  
**_Sam_:** The Big People are learning, I think. Remember, not many of them knew about us before we all got thrown together in this FellowshipI wager we hobbits have set them back a time or two!  
**_Ice Ember_** - OO They can't just leave Gimli behind!  
**_Boromir_**- Fear not, oh Ember of Frosty Ice. We are working VERY hard to convince Gimli to leave with us. If for no other reason than he knows the way out.

**_Star Stallion_**Aragorn! Get your butt in gear and save Frodo! Gimli; stop being a bull-headed Dwarf (well... you can stay a Dwarf, just lose the bull-headed part!) and Merry, hold on!_  
**Sam**: _It isn't my place to say all that, Star, but I agree with you.Big People sure seem to need a good kick 'ta get moving now and then!  
**_Star-Stallion_** - Aragorn! Get your butt in gear and save Frodo!  
**_Boromir_** - I suspect Aragorn has plans to get his arse moving. After all, I believe he has a vested interest in seeing that Ring get to Its destination. Ring in Power of Some Evil Person No Kingdom for Aragorn.  
**_Star-Stallion_**:P.S. I can't believe so many authors working together can produce something so good; keep up the good work!  
**_Boromir_**: As for so many authors being able to work together, if you could see the apartment we have rented in order to collaborate, I am most certain, you would change your mind. We do, though, graciously accept your admiration (and dutifully, I pass it all on to our editor Llinos and our Beta Marigold. It is they who own the golden pens) (All Hail and Kneel to the wonderful Llinos and Marigold).

**_Sam_**: And a special note to **_Earelwen_**: If you _are_ sure about that, miss, maybe you'd like to get together after the Quest. My address is No. 3, Bagshot Row on the Hill. Just ask anybody in Hobbiton. They'll give you directions.


	10. Findings and Failings

The East Gate

Authors The Eastgaters

Cast list   
Frodo – Baylor   
Samwise – Budgielover   
Pippin – Marigold   
Merry – Llinos   
Legolas – Mainframe   
Aragorn – Nilramiel   
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker   
Gimli – Q

Gollum – Llinos

The Wicked Elves – Baylor & Mainframe

Mister and Missus Tugman – Llinos

Story Editor Llinos   
Beta Marigold

Chapter 10 – Findings and Failings

Pippin cringed when Boromir toppled Gimli backwards and the dwarf howled in pain. Boromir was in a temper but hadn't meant to do what he did; Pippin was sure. They all took it for granted that Gimli was made of iron, a façade that Gimli was happy to encourage but that must have hurt. Boromir was going to feel sorry later – as soon as Gimli realised what he had done! Pippin made a mental note to be standing as far away as he could when that occurred and to make sure that Gimli didn't have any weapons close to hand.

He was careful to be extra gentle with Gimli's leg when helping Boromir to manoeuvre the dwarf through the entry, and once the two bigger folk were through, Pippin left Boromir to look about him and scuttled back through and surveyed the little room for anything useful they may have left behind. He suddenly remembered the other stash of candles and retrieved them along with his spare matches. He grabbed Gimli's makeshift crutch and the sticks they would need to use as torches and climbed back into the hole. Knowing that Boromir's temper would not improve if he had to crawl back in here to shut the doors that were the evidence of their escape Pippin dropped his burdens and tugged hard on the inner doors, falling backwards with a squeak and pulling his foot out of the way barely in time as the heavy chamber doors swung shut and darkness fell.

"Pippin?" Boromir sounded concerned.

"I am all right." He scrambled backwards with the results of his scavenging, and pushed that door to as well, giving the door handle several twists to lock it. Boromir dropped the latch once more and pulled the rope through and untied it, coiled it and put it in his pack. Now they could not be followed this way should the orcs break through and the secret of the dwarves was still safe. While Boromir did this Pippin prepared a couple of torches, and lit one from the burning candle.

Gimli was still unconscious and the other two were at a loss as to how they were to proceed. Gimli would have to be their guide. They did not have time or energy to investigate every tunnel or branch that they came to. And it would be hard enough for Boromir to help Gimli along, awake and with the help of his crutch, let alone unconscious and injured. Boromir was also starting to be more than a bit concerned about his rough handling of the dwarf. He had not meant to cause him so much pain but he doubted that Gimli would stay his hand long enough to listen.

Before either of them could speak though, there was a low rumbling and man and hobbit looked down to see a very irate dwarf, his eyes fixed upon Boromir, and his axe lying much too near for comfort.

Quickly deciding that they couldn't afford any hard feelings between them, especially as they needed to rely on each other., Pippin knelt down at the dwarf's side, "Thank goodness you are awake Gimli. I was afraid you were out of your head when you started bellowing back there."

They both stared at him. "What do you mean?" asked Gimli, confused.

"When Boromir was helping you into the tunnel. I suppose the pain got the better of you there for a moment. You shouted some things and then passed right out." He gave Gimli his best sympathetic look. "Are you feeling better now?"

Gimli eyed first Pippin and then Boromir suspiciously. He did remember feeling a great deal of pain, but he thought that the dratted man had been the cause of it. But Boromir was now giving him a look that was almost the twin of Peregrin's...Gimli had the sudden feeling that he was being faced by Pippin and Merry, rather than Pippin and Boromir... but perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps it had been just the pain overwhelming him.

In the course of getting Gimli onto his feet Boromir caught Pippin's eye and Pippin grinned back cheekily, letting Boromir know with a look that he would think of a good way for Boromir to repay him sometime in the future.

Once they got started they moved surprisingly quickly, with Gimli giving basic directions. He seemed to read some sort of code in what looked to Boromir and Pippin to be simple cracks or bumps in the stone walls. Pippin went ahead of the others, as directed by Gimli, carrying the torch to make certain the way was clear. They had been travelling for several hours with only two stops when suddenly the man and dwarf heard Pippin, some way ahead and around a slight bend, cry out in distress. Boromir made to put Gimli down to go to his aid and the dwarf pulled one of his throwing axes from his belt at the same time, but neither needed to fear for the hobbit.

Pippin came running around the bend, and threw himself at Boromir, weeping. They both comforted the lad and tried to find out what had caused him such a fright, but for several minutes he simply could not speak. When he did master himself he whispered so that they could barely hear.

"I found the women and children." He turned his tear-streaked face to Gimli. "I am so sorry Gimli."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"But the Precious. He saved It and now he will take It. Take It from uss!

"No, they is all weak now, maybe we follows a bit more. Sméagol runs and hides, hides and runs! They think we go – but perhaps we lose them! Lose the Precious!

"No, no. Can't lose the Precious. We knows where He goes. Precious calls us – It's ours – our birthday present! Stupid fat Bagginsess stole It! But we know where It goes – we follow and follow – we gets It back soon!"

Gollum shook himself like a dog emerging from a swim and licked his hands a little where they were cut from the sharp grass. Then scuttled off into the undergrowth, muttering and cursing.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Aragorn looked around, senses alert. Both hobbits were conscious, but the Ranger doubted that either of them would move another step until they had rested. And this time, he agreed. He could hear fresh water running nearby, and the time had come to tend to the hurts of his companions.

Gollum was gone, and there were clear signs where he had pulled himself out of the fool's sand and run off in the direction from which he had come. It was unlikely that he would attack them again tonight, now that he had lost the element of surprise.

"Well," Aragorn's voice was grim, "I suppose it was too much to hope that the wretch drowned himself."

"No, but if he had, he might've taken Mr Frodo with him." Samwise peeled the sopping cloak and jacket off Frodo and wrapped the blanket around him, rubbing him briskly, noting his master was already starting to shiver.

Aragorn bent and picked up the waterskins. "I am going for water. Keep your eyes and ears open until I return." He paused, softening his expression. "Do not fear, you will be safe for a little while. Water is very close. I will be back before you can build a fire." He looked at Sam with an ironic smile, as if his last remark was a challenge. Then taking up his sword, he turned and followed the path Gollum had taken, towards the sound of water.

"Whew! No offence, sir, but I thought you were a goner for sure." Instantly Sam regretted the unconsidered remark; Frodo looked so miserable. Sam hadn't thought any of them could possibly get any filthier – he'd been right wrong about that. Gingerly he slid a lank, wet curl through his fingers and grimaced as a lump of congealing sand and muck adhered to his hand then slowly slid off to land with a disgusting "plop" on the ground.

Frodo shivered, only half aware, and drew the blanket tighter about his cold body. He was filthy and exhausted and miserable. If only he could rest for a bit, perhaps he could rally again. He thought with longing of the pleasant bathroom at Bag End, about piping hot water and soap and fluffy, comforting towels.

Sam patted his master's shoulder soothingly then transferred the blanket to dry the dark hair, urging Frodo to lean forward as much as he could without stressing his sore ribs. Sam knelt beside Frodo and rubbed briskly, trying to warm as well as dry him. "You'd best get out of them wet things," Sam remarked when Frodo was as dry as he could make him. Leaving his master to clutch the blanket to him, Sam opened Frodo's pack and shook out a clean – well, cleaner – set of clothes. Mindful of Aragorn's warning, all the while his eyes roamed the surrounding terrain, watching.

Sam was also marking the location of what firewood he could see. Aragorn had set him a challenge, he had no doubt of that. As soon as Frodo could spare him, he would gather up that wood and have a blaze going before Aragorn returned. Maybe they could use some of that water he was fetching to pour over Mr Frodo. Clean his hair, anyway. Sam looked down at the shivering form below him and sighed. 'What a mess,' he thought in discouragement and exhaustion. 'What an awful mess.'

Frodo's eyes kept shutting despite his endeavours to keep them open. If he could just sleep for a while…

"I am sorry, Sam," he mumbled, "but I am so weary. I must sleep, just for a little. Then I can go on. But not now."

Not waiting for an answer, Frodo closed his eyes and fell into a black, dreamless sleep.

'He's drifted off at last,' Sam thought, being careful to make no sound as he settled down by his master and leaned back against their piled packs. 'About time, too. Do him a world o' good to sleep for a while … and forget…' Sam's head jerked up just as he realised he was nodding.

'None of that, Samwise Gamgee! You go to sleep and that Gollum thing comes back, and what happens then, eh? Just you keep your eyes open and your sword in your hand … where's me sword?' Oh, he had sheathed it. A lot of good it would do him in its scabbard if he needed it in a hurry. Sam shifted to the side and carefully drew the weapon, laying it at his side with his hand loosely on the hilt.

Sam's eyes were drawn to his master when a shiver caught his attention. 'Can't have that. Just one second, Mr Frodo.' Glad of the excuse to move about, he rolled to the side and turned around, digging into his pack. 'One more blanket – no, two.' Frodo was chilled to the bone, poor soul. Hobbits weren't supposed to almost drown in shifting sands that looked like honest earth. Sam couldn't get all that filthy muck off him, but he could at least make certain Frodo was warm.

Sam rose to his feet and laid the double layer of blankets carefully over his sleeping master. While on his feet, he stretched hugely, stifling a yawn, and carefully turned about, casting a suspicious eye about him. Nothing untoward out there that he could see, but he had no trust of this cruel land. All they needed now was some of those filthy orcs to have been trailing them and come on them when Aragorn was off fetching water. Speaking of the man, should he be back by now?

Well, Sam could hardly begrudge the Ranger a wash. The music of the gurgling waters came easily to his ears, and he hoped that he could have a bath himself– even an ice-cold one – maybe when Aragorn got back and would stay with Mr Frodo. Surely there would be a backwater or little pool that wouldn't be too deep. He'd forgotten about the cut on his brow in all the excitement, and it was taking advantage of the neglect to burn fiercely again. He stopped himself from rubbing at it and busied himself repacking his bundle. Marvellous things, those blankets Lord Elrond gave them. Hardly took up any room in a pack, and still so warm. After a moment's hesitation, he pulled out one for himself.

'I'm not going to sleep,' he reminded himself sternly as he settled back against his pack with the blanket spread over his knees and pulled up to his shoulders. He leaned over Frodo and checked his breathing, watched his master's chest rise and fall for a few moments. A sudden surge of grief hit him unexpectedly and Sam choked, remembering the last time it had been just the two of them. Leaving the Shire, they were, before encountering Mr Merry and Master Pippin. Just the two of them… no danger, no pursuit, no living in terror of every rustle in the brush. No idea of what lay ahead of them…

Mr Merry and Master Pip – he hadn't thought of them in what seemed like a long time. And the others, too, of course. Gandalf he couldn't bear to think of – not yet. Sam closed his eyes, feeling treacherous tears gather there and slowly begin to leak down his face. He hoped the end had come quickly for his fellow hobbits, but he feared it had not. He couldn't bear to think of how he had seen Merry last, those bright curls matted with blood from his wound and his dancing eyes dimming. And Pippin … just a lad among all those awful beasts…

The sobs caught him out of the blue and he choked and put his hand over his mouth so that he would not wake Frodo with his grief. He wanted to pound the earth and scream, cry so loudly that all the world would hear and mourn with him. He'd failed, he had, in caring for them. Frodo was his master but he had always done for Merry and Pippin too whenever they came to visit or needed doing for.

Sam angrily scrubbed the tears from his face. Wouldn't do to let the Ranger see when he came back. He'd done the best he could. It just hadn't been good enough. He darted a quick look at Frodo to make sure his stifled outburst had not disturbed his master, but Frodo slept on, oblivious, exhausted beyond endurance. Sam sighed and wriggled down more comfortably against the pack, drawing the blanket up higher.

No use dwelling on his failures. The Gaffer had taught him that, standing by his side and regarding more than one failed cultivation effort. Nasturtiums it had been one year, planted to climb up the earthen south side of Bag End and bloom around Mr Bilbo's window in a riotous burst of colour. If Sam closed his eyes, he could just see his father standing with him and hear his gravely voice. "Too much sun," his da had said judiciously, turning the scorched blooms in his soil-stained fingers. "You didn't think it out, lad."

"I'm sorry, Da," Sam found himself muttering. "I won't make that mistake again." Sam's sandy head sagged forward on his breast, and he slept.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

None of the three wished to go on, but go on they must. Gimli and Pippin kept their eyes averted, save when they needed to watch their footing, but it was a small room thankfully, and they all heaved a sigh of relief when they had passed through. Boromir had to keep his eyes on where they were going and had taken in the whole room. He was horrified by what he had seen, but he at least had been warned. Pippin, poor lad, had walked into the room not knowing the gruesome sight that awaited him.

Boromir had not counted the bodies but there were more than a dozen adults and he could see the skeletons of perhaps half a dozen children, including at least one infant. They had all starved to death most likely for there was no sign of physical injury. They must have waited for their males to return and by the time they realised they would not come, there probably had not been food enough to try to escape the caverns. And anyway, to attempt to do so would risk the young ones falling into the hands of the orcs and meeting a horrific end, rather than a peaceful one among those who loved them.

A hard choice had been made here. Gimli was numb with grief and Boromir was practically carrying the dwarf for a good hundred yards past the room before he finally came out of his stupor. As if he had been waiting for Gimli to recover Peregrin left their side and moved to take the lead again. They could hear that he still wept quietly.

Boromir could find no words to say, and so merely squeezed the dwarf's upper arm as he would that of one of the men in his own Company that had suffered some loss. Gimli did not look up, but nodded once in acknowledgement.

Perhaps two more hours passed without further incident and they finally had to make a stop. They sat on the hard stone floor and made a meal out of the scraps remaining in their food pouches. Pippin was almost too weary to eat and actually fell back against Boromir, eyes closed, fast asleep, with a piece of dried apple in his hand. Boromir shifted to make Pippin more comfortable and yawned himself.

"How fare you Gimli?" It was clear the dwarf was in pain and they were all overcome with weariness.

"I am well enough." The dwarf muttered thickly. In truth he was in agony but there was naught that could be done, so no sense complaining about it. "I think that we will come to the hidden exit soon. The air smells much fresher, and see how the torch gutters."

The torch was in fact flickering rapidly and Boromir could feel a breeze, albeit very slight, upon his face but from where he could not tell. "It must be dark by now, and we are safe enough at the moment. Shall we rest here until the morning and then make our escape?"

Gimli was about to answer in the affirmative when Pippin suddenly bolted upright and to his feet.

Boromir reached out to steady him. "What is the matter, little one? We shall stay the night here. It is all right for you to take some rest."

Pippin didn't answer, just looked around frantically, then seemed to home in on whatever had alarmed him from sleep. "Footsteps!" He hissed. "I hear footsteps." He pointed above and to the front of where they sat.

The others heard nothing but Gimli took Pippin's word and quickly smothered the torch. Pippin pressed against Boromir, so silent the others could barely hear him breathing, and the three companions waited.

Then the other two heard the footsteps as well. And then voices, harsh orc voices, more than one. All three readied their weapons. But the voices and footsteps passed by and faded from hearing. Yet they waited until Pippin could no longer hear them before moving. Boromir left the others and strode forward quietly looking towards where they had heard the orcs.

At first he saw only darkness, then he saw in the midst of the darkness, stars. There was a small opening here and he was looking out into the blessed night, the crisp breeze in his face! If Peregrin had not heard the orcs approaching, their enemies' attention might have been drawn to the torchlight shining through the hole in the rocks and they could have easily looked in and seen the three. Luck had been with them indeed. They would move out of the view of this hole, Boromir decided, and rest. Then in the morning there would be some light...real light...and they would find the exit and leave this death hole! They would make it yet!

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Running silently, Aragorn followed the glaringly obvious trail left by Gollum towards the water. He could smell the foul creature, and the silt-laden muck clinging to the undergrowth, as well. "Worse than an orc, in some ways," he muttered to himself. "Perhaps I will surprise him at his bath and deal with him once and for all."

As expected, the Ranger came upon a small but swift-moving stream after only a few minutes. Gollum's footprints led straight into the water, and there were clear tracks in the sand on both sides. The creature had stopped here, though only for a few moments, and then continued away from the stream on the other side.

Aragorn paused, considering. Gollum had very little lead, and perhaps he could be captured... but the hobbits needed tending, and rest, and food. If he were able to lay hands on the wretch, would he kill him? Gandalf had advised against it, yet how much trouble and attention would be needed to keep Gollum bound and quiet, if he was caught and returned to camp? Yet again, were he in their keeping, there would be no more surprise attacks, and that was something to be considered.

The man sighed. His choices had betrayed him before, however wise and well intended. As much as he would like to have Gollum accounted for, the hobbits' needs were more important. He would have to forego following the still-damp prints, even if it meant greater vigilance tonight.

Wading into the middle of the stream, the Ranger turned and walked against the singing current. After about ten minutes, he came to a bend, beyond which the stream deepened into a shallow pool. This was what he had been seeking. He tossed his sword and the waterskins onto the bank and squatted down upon the gravelled streambed, bringing the cold water up to his chest. Quickly he washed away the worst of the sandy muck and orc blood, using fine sand from near the bank to scrub his face and hair. He did this as swiftly as he could, not bothering to remove any of his clothing, and thinking always of the two small ones who waited alone by the patch of fool's sand. Scrubbing his skin laid open a number of small cuts and scratches, and he detected the taste of his own blood in the water running down his face, but he paid no heed to it.

He emerged dripping from the pool, shaking the water out of his hair, and picked up his sword and the waterskins. He walked up the bank another few minutes, until the water ran clear and swift, drank deeply, and filled the skins.

Turning downstream, he followed the watercourse back to the place where Gollum had crossed. The prints on the opposite bank were now dry, but he could still see the impressions in the sandy soil. None of them looked fresh, and none looked to be going towards the hobbits. Good.

He hefted the waterskins and weighed his sword in his hand, wishing he had brought his bow. Fresh meat would do them all good, but with only his sword, he was unlikely to take anything. Ah, well, what little food they had left in their packs would have to suffice. He turned his back to the stream and made his way swiftly along what had become almost a path. As he went, he looked for plants with healing virtues, and was rewarded with a few that might prove helpful. He did hope Samwise had started a fire. His wet clothes clung to him and he was quite chilled.

But there was no fire. In fact, both hobbits were fast asleep, wrapped in blankets near the packs. Ah, sleep! He needed it badly himself, but not yet, not yet. He could hardly blame the hobbits for dropping off, but it was important that their wounds be cleansed and tended before they had a real rest.

He crouched beside Sam's head, what was visible of it above the tightly wrapped blanket, and spoke gently. "Samwise. Sam, wake up! The sun westers and you and Frodo should be tended before your injuries worsen."

Sam rolled over with a snort and was up on his forearms before he was aware of waking. He looked up into the Ranger's face, blinking blankly through clouds of confusion and weariness. He had fallen asleep? He had fallen asleep!

He would have groaned in anger at himself, save that Frodo slumbered next to him in exhausted abandon. Sam shook his head and sat up, pushing the blanket off, struggling to push away the grey clouds from his mind as well. Something cold dripped onto his hand and he watched another drop fall from the man's sopping hair. He was supposed to have made a fire. And now here was Aragorn, looking like he had swum a river fully clothed, dripping water everywhere and likely half-froze.

Completely mortified, Sam looked up into the man's eyes. "I'm sorry, sir," he whispered. "I'm right sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Do not worry, Sam," Aragorn began to reach out for some nearby pieces of kindling. "You're both exhausted and injured. I just wanted to make sure your wounds are cleansed, then you may both sleep again."

Sam leapt up and took the twigs from Aragorn. "Please, sir – sit. I'll have that fire made afore you can blink." He almost stepped on his unsheathed sword. Stooping, he caught it up and thrust it into the scabbard, his cheeks burning with mortification. He kept his back to the Ranger while hunting for more sticks. Picking up firewood cleared his head, but tears of utter self-contempt burned his eyes. How could he do such a thing? What if that spiteful Gollum-thing had come upon them while he slept as he shouldn't?

At least making a fire was something he could do and no mistake. He had the flames crackling merrily in such a hurry that he rather thought the Ranger was surprised.

The man had watched with some amusement and with genuine admiration as Sam built a compact, nearly smokeless fire in almost no time at all. Undoubtedly, had the young hobbit not fallen into an exhausted sleep, he would have had a serviceable blaze going long before Aragorn had returned from his wash.

That done, Sam turned guiltily to face Aragorn. "Please, sir, don't wake Mr Frodo yet. He's so tired. Can you let him sleep while I wash up a bit? It would be better if he don't wake while I'm gone. I'll only be a moment. Back before you know it…"

"Yes, Sam, but the water will be cold." Aragorn began. "Wouldn't you rather…"

Sam snatched up his blanket and escaped to the stream.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Gimli ached everywhere. Not just his leg, which throbbed, but also his head and back, and even his arms from dragging himself along between the crutch and Boromir.

Boromir urged him on, Pippin silently watching, into some place perhaps more hidden. Gimli no longer cared. "I must rest," he gasped, shamed by his weakness.

"We shall stay here for what remains of this night." Boromir settled him on a slab of stone partially worked by the dwarves now gone to Durin. "You may sleep soon, Master Dwarf."

Gimli wiped his brow and shut his eyes against the concerned glances of his companions. "That is good," he whispered. The dwarf was completely exhausted and felt himself on the verge of passing out.

Boromir hoped that Gimli would be able to continue in the morning, so that they could leave this place. But if he could not, what then? He studied the dwarf for a moment before turning away. He needed to hide his own fear until he mastered it. It would do no one good if he let either of his companions see him in doubt.

Boromir's own shoulder ached, although not as fiercely as it had earlier. This was a good sign. He'd not damaged it too badly in his haste; perhaps just bruised it. Still, his own fatigue was beginning to take its toll and he longed to lie down and sleep for a few hours.

A slight noise from the hobbit brought Boromir's wandering mind back to the present. Peregrin had settled next to Gimli and had upset a small stone. Boromir smiled down at the youngling as the hobbit grimaced as an apology for disturbing the peace. Gimli did not even notice the sound let alone the bemused exchange of looks.

"Lad, I hate to ask you to be up and about just as you've sat down. But I need to see to Gimli's leg before we all can rest and I'm none too sure about the complete safety of our new hiding hole. I must ask you to use that keen hobbit eyesight and ferret about a bit.

"All right Boromir," Pippin stifled a yawn, "I'll do my best, although I'm not sure that will be so good right now."

"You're one of the finest scouts I've ever had," Boromir smiled as he watched Pippin visibly swell with the compliment. "Find out everything there is to know about this spot. We must rest here until morning. I'd not risk going out in the night when we can be easily hunted down even if Gimli were not injured. Daylight, and the orcs fear of it, will afford us some time to get ahead of them if they should somehow start to track us. Go to it, now."

Boromir offered his hand to Peregrin, lifting the hobbit off his feet before remembering that a hobbit generally weighs less than 3 stone and didn't need to be hefted as heartily, say, as would a dwarf. "Sorry lad, after lugging our friend around, I forget how little bulk a hobbit has."

"You don't know your own strength," Pippin grasped at the man's hand to steady himself as he was set upright on his own two feet once more.

"Now, Master Dwarf," Boromir sat in the spot just vacated by Pippin, "no hiding the truth from me. Your healing directly concerns my own survival. And that of our lad."

"You'll get no argument from me." Gimli sounded gruff but his leg was hurting and he hoped the man might even be able to help.

Boromir unslung his pack, handed a waterskin to Gimli and began untying the splint. The dwarf did have a slight fever, but if the leg was not too swollen and if no infection had set in, Boromir felt confident that after some rest he'd be able to move him along at a fairly quick pace given that they'd already manoeuvred over some rather rough terrain with minimal delay.

Gimli managed to remove his own pack with a little assistance and Boromir set it up as a sloping backrest. The man wedged his own pack against the dwarf's good side to give him some support and then he carefully examined the leg as best he could in the faint moonlight that was now filtering through the hole in the wall. All seemed well, save for a sore spot caused by one of the ties, and Boromir replaced the splint carefully, adjusting the tie so that it no longer rubbed the abrasion.

"Aye, well, thanks for your care," Gimli managed to whisper gruffly and added a nod of thanks. The well meaning but stiff-necked dwarf then dropped off into a much-needed sleep.

Quiet snores and the very faint rustling of a hobbit checking the perimeter crept on the edges of Boromir's thoughts as he contemplated many possible scenarios for tomorrow's final escape.

The packs would have to be thrown away if they were forced to run. He'd tell the lads in the morning and prepare them to drop everything except their swords and one of Gimli's axes. Those dratted axes! If they weren't so very, very useful, Boromir would have left them back in the guardroom - they made manoeuvring with the dwarf extremely difficult. Boromir had had to sling his pack and shield over one shoulder and tightly lash one of the axes to his own back in order to fit himself to Gimli's side well enough to be of any use.

Boromir stood and made his way quietly back to the small hole through which he'd earlier seen stars. He could see the half-moon now too, and the air smelled so sweet he swore he could taste honey on it! It was the scent of growing things, he was sure, though of what small plants or distant trees he didn't know.

Boromir looked towards the other side of the chamber to see Peregrin watching him. He motioned for the hobbit to join him. He could use some hobbit-cheer right about now. "So, tell me, did you find any treasures? Some decent food would be a good start."

"A good end too," Pippin replied glumly, "but there's not so much as a crumb."

Boromir smiled at the thought of what the word "food" was doing to take Peregrin's mind off their worse worries. "Sit, tell me your finds and then join our snoring friend in a short sleep. I will take first watch and you will have second. We leave at first light, if Gimli is up to the journey." He walked to where Gimli was sleeping, propped against the packs and carefully rummaged to find something for the hobbit to eat. Dried apple rings were the only fare left.

Pippin munched resignedly on the apple rings, food was food after all, and this was better than naught, "I couldn't see the actual door, on account of it being of dwarven design I suppose." He paused to remove a piece of dried apple that was stuck in his teeth. "But in one place the wall seemed smoother, so I think that must be the exit." Pippin took another piece of desiccated fruit looked at it and sighed. "There was little room to move farther than we have already come, as the tunnel narrows down to almost nothing not far beyond the smooth wall."

"How far did you follow it?" Boromir realised that Pippin had been out of his sight for a while and imagined that he had gone some way along that dark route.

"Well, I thought of exploring the tunnel but as the passage was not big enough even for a smallish orc to pass through there was no sense in taking the risk," Pippin admitted. "Besides I've had enough of squeezing through small dark tunnels with uncertain endings for one day."

Boromir laughed, Pippin never failed to produce the light relief that lifted the spirit, "I cannot fault you for that decision, honest and wise scout. No doubt the morning sun will throw more light on our position."

Weary almost beyond thought Pippin lay his head down on his pack as he related the last few details, his eyes drifting closed of their own accord, an apple ring still clutched in his fingers but with no strength left to even get it to his mouth. He wondered if Merry was hungry tonight, and if he had been able to rest. As hurt as he was Merry would need to rest, so he could get better. The last thing he was aware of was a sudden weight and warmth that he knew was Boromir's cloak covering him, then he was sound asleep.

Pippin's dreams were dark and he seemed to be searching for something…no, not something, someone…Merry…where was Merry? Merry sought him too, not resting, in pain and discomfort and consumed with worry over Pippin - somehow his dream-self knew that this was true and the need to reassure his cousin and himself drew him to Merry's struggling spirit.

He found his cousin lying on a small bed, dozing fitfully and so gaining no strength to keep fighting his battle. This would not do. Merry needed to sleep; he was very badly hurt, but Pippin refused to let himself feel fear, worried that Merry would sense it. Pippin tried to speak to Merry, to calm him, but his voice would not come and somehow Pippin understood that it was not he that could not speak, but Merry that could not hear.

There was a heaviness over them in this dream-place, wherever it was. It was stifling and hard to move, and sound did not carry, and Pippin felt muddled as he had after drinking the tea the healer had given him when he had broken his wrist. Ah, so Merry had been given something to ease the pain! Pippin could still feel it emanating from him. Merry's worry over something was causing his cousin to fight his proper rest and not let the drug do its work.

Not knowing what else to do to calm his cousin Pippin curled up next to him and carefully held him in his arms, resting Merry's head on his shoulder. Almost at once Merry calmed, smiled, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. In his own dream Pippin closed his eyes, and the last thing he knew was Merry's even breathing…

Then someone was waking him, gently shaking his shoulder. Pippin mumbled, "Careful or you'll wake Merry. He's finally sleeping you know." Then he opened his eyes, blinked in the still dark passage and stretched like a cat. "Is it time for my watch, then?"

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

As Merry drank the warm milk, his mind drifted off once more with the opium and pain blending into an alliance of numbness. He did not know where he was, but right now he did not have the strength to do anything about it.

He felt a tinge of fear in the back of his mind. He had been taken by strangers and did not really know if he could trust them or not. Also he worried, had he said anything in his feverish ramblings? Anything about the Ring, things that might endanger his cousin? Best not to worry on that for now, these people did not seem evil, whoever they were. They were nursing him and tending to him gently and kindly and at least he was no longer a burden to Legolas.

The woman washed him, carefully manoeuvring his limbs so as not to distress his wound. With a minimum of movement, she unwrapped him and cleansed away the mixture of black orc blood and his own spilled red blood, she even gently washed his curls and then carefully rebandaged the terrible wound.

"Mister Tugman! Come take a look at this here," she called suddenly. The woman was bathing the last part of the hobbit to be washed. "Did thee ever see such feets?"

"My but them be right hairy and all!" Mister Tugman knelt and took hold of Merry's foot, feeling the calloused, tough sole with amazement. "It be a kind of spell them elveses put on he no doubt. No child an Oi ever did see, has'n such hairy, tough feets!"

"Is… are hobbits' feet…" Merry croaked, still not sure how to make them understand. "Is what hobbits have…"

"There, there, hush my little un. Mither Tugman'll mind thee," The woman dried his feet off and tucked them back inside the blanket. "Don't thee worry none on thems. It bain't no fault o' thine if'n thy feets growed strange." She whispered to her husband, "Mebbe thass why his'n parents left he." but Merry's sharp ears heard it too and he sighed in defeat.

Frantic thoughts still battled around in Merry's head of what he should do and how he could explain to these people that he was not an orphan in need of parents, that he was an adult with a will of his own. The woman rocked him to and fro a little and fed him the rest of the warm milk. Then gradually as she laid him back on the cot, soothing his brow and whispering soft sing-song words to him, the warm milk and the sweetness of the honey joined the other opiates to lull him into a restless stupor.

The hobbit felt the woman move away, but still sleep eluded him. The pain was dulled to a familiar throb as his body became accustomed to its constant presence and as it receded, frantic thoughts of Pippin raced across his mind. Merry was certain he must have been torn to pieces by the orcs, but still he did not feel his death. Why was that? If Pip had died he would have known. If he were still living someone must go and rescue him.

Then Pippin was stroking his brow and calming his frenzied mind, holding him and whispering that it was all right and he must sleep now. Thankfully, Merry obeyed and sank back into his cousin's gentle embrace to let a gentle black blanket fall across his senses, dulling worry and pain until he finally slept.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Merry woke to a soft touch on his brow. A gentle hand finger-combed through his curls and a sweet voice was whispering meaningless words in his ear. Legolas! He had come back and found him. Merry moaned slightly; now he would burden the poor elf again and he had no doubt caused him much trouble in searching for him.

But as his friend whispered the elvish words over and over, Merry felt an enormous surge of relief and he tried to smile up at the elf to let him know that he was very glad he had come.

As Legolas lifted him up and promised that all would be well, he felt another presence, someone tucking the blanket around him. Not the woman surely. It did not feel like she.

"Aaiiiiiiiiieeeee!" The scream made Merry's blood freeze in his veins, or so it felt. He realised with horror it was the kindly woman. She of course, meant well and must think now that the elf was stealing him away to some wicked purpose. But he wanted to go with Legolas and, weak as he was, frantically tried to lock his arms around the elf's neck and buried his face in the long golden locks that had worked their way loose from their bindings and now cascaded over his friend's shoulders freely.

"Put he down vile creatures! What thee be a doin' wi' my little un?" The woman picked up a sturdy broom and advanced on the two elves, shouting as she came, "Mister Tugman! Come thee here quick! Them elveses is stealing my little un."

The man now rushed into the room behind his wife. His breeches were hastily pulled on over his nightshirt and his braces dangled at his sides, but he was armed with a vicious-looking pikestaff and stabbed it towards the two elves as he barred the doorway. "Get thee foul paws of'n ourn little un! He be ourn now, Ye'll no leave this house wi' he or my name bain't Tugman!"

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**To Be Continued…**

**_Frodo_** at your service this chapter (with a little "help" from **_Haldir_** and _**Merry**_) Sorry for the long wait – various pressing engagements have kept certain writers and editors fromtheir hobbit duties, but all should be back on course now. Thank you all for your reviews, we appreciate each and every one.

Anyway I am now in the chair to answer your myriad questions or make smart comments.

**_Dashah_**: Wow, excellent chapter! Great suspense; update soon! (And Llinos...Any news on the updates of Recaptured? )   
**_Frodo:_** Mlle Llinos has been working very diligently on The East Gate lately, but I'm sure she had not forgotten Recaptured. RIGHT, Mlle Llinos?   
**_Merry:_** I hope so too, I'm in a bit of a fix there as well right now! Taps foot impatiently.

**_poppymuddyfoot:_** I'm yet another person who's just discovered this story. With so many of my favourite hobbit writers involved, how could I resist? And Llinos, I have been waiting (im)patiently for more Recaptured.   
**_Merry:_** The hobbit writers are flattered that you find them irresistible and Llinos regrets the long wait for Recap – as do I!   
**_poppymuddyfoot_**: Actually, I already reviewed this chapter, but I thought you might get a kick out of this. Every time I do a search for this story on FFN, instead of entering The East Gate, I type The Eat Gate. Every time. I think I've been spending too much time with the hobbits.   
**_Frodo_**: I think you've been spending too much time with Pippin.

**_kylie_**: UP Date THIS STORY   
**_Frodo_**: sniffs, mutters All these people ordering me about. Walk to Rivendell, take the Ring, climb up the fiery mountain . . .

**_Star-Stallion:_** I LOVE Merry and Pippin in this story! They're so sweet! Ooh dear; looks like Haldir and Legolas have been found out by that woman! OO' Not good! I wonder what these people have against Elves? Very strange...   
**_Frodo_**: Yes, yes, they're very sweet. I, on the other hand, am quite brave and honourable. In case you hadn't noticed.   
**_Star-Stallion:_** Ooh dear; looks like Haldir and Legolas have been found out by that woman! OO' Not good! I wonder what these people have against Elves? Very strange...   
_**Haldir**_: Humans are, in our experience, perfidious, mendacious, treacherous mortals with bad breath and flat vowels, only slightly more acceptable than dwarves! But that's just my opinion.

_**Periantari**_: I loved this line from the beginning from Pippin: "I know all about the stubbornness of the dwarves Gimli snip the stubborns and i love the Pippin in this story he's doing EVERYTHING and he's oh so brave :) seriously has kept everything under control and such with Boromir and Gimli but one question about this portion... where is Gollum at this time? I thought that he was still free to do mischief... has he been confined somewhere?   
**_Frodo_**: Let me assure you, Pippin did not speak in jest. The stubbornness of hobbits is quite renowned, and none can beat a Took for stubbornness. On top of that, there's not a Took can beat my youngest cousin for stubbornness! You can't imagine what bedtime was like when he was young. Oh, and Gollum was mired in that fool's sand.

_**Ethoniel**_: Anyway, hugs to Sam, Frodo, Merry and Pip! A manly slap on the back to Boromir (i know how you hate hugs) and hugs also to Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. I can't wait until the Fellowship gets back together! I was watching the Two Towers EE the other day, and I kept confusing this story with the movie. Silly me!!:p   
_**Frodo**_: Oh, thank you, I really needed a hug right now. Greatly appreciated, truly.   
(**_Rest of cast_**): Um yes, thanks for the hugs.

_**Pip4**_: That's makes the score hobbits-3 the world-0!   
**_Frodo_**: Hobbits 3, World 0. A word of advice – never bet against a hobbit.

**_storyfish_**: Yay! New chapters for me to read and enjoy! I definitely loved the whole Merry-talking-in-Frodo's head thing. And Frodo's response (no respect!) was laugh-out-loud. Plus, have I mentioned how much I love Pippin in this story? I'll say that he's definitely disarmed this loyal reader, not to mention the rest of middle earth. ;-) (crap, he's got me sword! leggo, you sneak!)   
_**Frodo**_: Thank you, I've always thought of myself as quite witty. And please do not give Pippin any sharp objects – he always ends up running with them.

**_Hyperactive Forever:_** i wasn't laughing at Frodo, i swear!   
As for my reviewly question If (i mean WHEN) Boromir, Gimli, and Pippin escape from the mines, is the story almost going to be over? please say no!   
**_Frodo_**: frowns severely Laughing at Frodo? I should hope not. I AM the Bearer of The One Ring, Master of Bag End, and Wielder of Sting, I hope I need not remind you. And there certainly is quite a bit more story to be told.

**_domstygerr_**: Pippin you brave sweet lad, I cannot praise you enough. Merry my darling heart, Samwise, truly a great effort in saving Frodo, but I think my darling Merry also played a hand in that :) Way to go Merry!!   
**_Frodo_**: My young cousins certainly are proving themselves, aren't they? puffs up with familial pride

**_smalldiver_**: I'm glad that Legolas has got Merry back (Little tip for shutting annoying woman up: shoot her with an arrow ;)), but I'm sure there'll be complications. There always are.   
**_Haldir_**: I couldn't agree more about the arrow. notches bowstring

**_auntiemeesh_**: Hugs to all the hobbits and all the writers. :)   
**_Frodo_**: Ah, more hugs. Thank you, thank you, I'll be signing copies of the Red Book in Lothlórien next week.

**_Mystarri_**: Legolas, I've got an idea to help you: Why don't you grab Merry, and run out of the house...? Gimli, how very noble of you. And Pippin's so cute, especially with that splinter...   
**_Haldir_**: Grab Merry and run! That's what I keep saying!   
**_Frodo_**: I shall overlook your lack of interest in the Ringbearer due to your great concern for my cousins.

**_pipinheart_**: Pippin has been very helpful and resourceful...   
**_Frodo_**: Pippin has been quite helpful and resourceful, hasn't he? I think he takes after me.

**_Nayana Baggins:_** And Boromir is a big ole jerk!   
**_Frodo_**: You may be best advised not to call Boromir of Gondor a "big ole jerk." But that's just a suggestion.

**_Ice Ember:_** Everyone made it! But poor Merry is still trapped with the people who sound like they might be on helium. Update soon plz!   
**_Frodo_**: I'm not sure what "helium" is, but if it's a new form of pipeweed, I hope to find out more soon.

**_fliewatuet_**: Anyway, hugs and cookies for everyone,   
**_Frodo_**: Cookies! Look, everyone, cookies!

**_my-fool-of-a-took:_** despite Boromir's earlier reluctance about hugs and hobbits, i think each hobbit in this chapter was entitled to one.   
**_Frodo_**: Even great Lords of Gondor surely must recognize the importance of hugs to hobbits.

**_ringmarciel_**: Ah... Frodo this Frodo that. Anyway hope Merry is rescued by the elves.   
**_Frodo_**: glares. takes down your name

**_lindahoyland_**: I hope Frodo gets his hot bath.   
**_Frodo_**: You and me both. Sam, don't forget the bubbles.

**_tarielensa_**: Hugs and cuddles to all who enjoy them and hearty handshakes to the rest (you know who you are).   
**_Frodo_**: I'm not certain if I received a hug or a handshake, but either way, thank you for the good wishes.   
**_Merry_**: For Pity's sake Frodo – you got a hug! Think about it!

**_Maripo5a_**: Poor Merry, and poor Gimli, and poor everybody... Hugs all around! (Except to Boromir, to whom I offer a slow, lingering kiss--seems like you might like that--or a firm handshake. Whichever you prefer.)   
**_Frodo_**: Ah, I'll just, you know, wait, um, over here. You and Boromir just, yes, that'll be fine.


	11. Sleeping and Weeping

The East Gate

Authors The Eastgaters

Cast list  
Frodo – Baylor  
Samwise – Budgielover  
Pippin – Marigold  
Merry – Llinos  
Legolas – Mainframe  
Aragorn – Nilramiel  
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker  
Gimli – Q

Gollum – Llinos

The Wicked Elves – Baylor & Mainframe

Mister and Missus Tugman – Llinos

Story Editor Llinos  
Beta Marigold

Chapter 11 – Sleeping and Weeping

Gimli dreamed.

He shifted uncomfortably in his sleep, the ache in his leg nearly waking him, but exhaustion pulled him back under and he fell deeper into sleep, as deep as the chasm little Pippin had had to screw up his courage to leap. Gimli slept and in his sleep, he dreamed.

The caverns of Khazad-dûm were beyond reckoning for a dwarf originally from the Blue Mountains. In his dreams, Gimli wandered through glittering caves and jewel-encrusted grottos, searching for his kith and kin. He could hear their voices, faint and echoing, ever just beyond his reach. How would he find them? He recognized nothing; the tales greybeards repeated from tales their fathers had told them offered little direction in the ruin of this place.

"Gimli!" He turned at the shout, but there was no one, only the echo of his name bouncing off the mithril-glimmering walls. Should he go back? But who would know him here, who would call him here?

Gandalf. The word came to him, a bruise on Gimli's heart, and he twisted in his sleep, dismay at his failure to help their leader washing through him. Gone, the Wizard was gone, and Gimli would have to tell his father. All Gloin's long life, and Gimli's, Gandalf had known them, and now he was wrenched from them, yet another division in Gimli's life – what he had known before and now, after Gandalf.

_Gandalf_! He called in his sleeping mind, but he did not hear the familiar voice answer, just the sigh and murmur of his unseen kindred, and even in his sleep he realised that they too, were gone. He was pursuing the dead, as if anxious to join them.

He twisted again, murmuring one of the secret names of Durin, and it comforted him.

Gimli dreamed.

He dreamed of the hobbits, creatures that until recently he had known only from his father's tales: Mr Bilbo Baggins the burglar, the fair Ring-bearer and his loyal servant, the Ring-bearer's bright spirited cousin, and the littlest hobbit, Gimli's charmed child, Pippin. In his dreams, he saw Pippin again brave his fear to leap the chasm; saw Sam comfort Frodo in the damp cold nights; saw Merry silently watching as the men and Gandalf softly argued about some detail of their journey, saw Frodo grasp at the hidden evil he bore about his neck and then consciously force his hand away.

Where were they now? His poor heart yearned for the broken Fellowship to be once more complete, his vow as shattered as his leg. "Pippin," he murmured, and felt a warm touch against his face.

"Sleep," someone told him. "It's not yet your watch, Master Dwarf."

Gimli slept, and in his sleep, he dreamed.

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Aragorn sighed, rubbing his cold hands over the fire. He did intend to wake Frodo, and was sure that Sam would resent it, but he was unwilling to let the Ring-bearer lie with filth in his wounds for even another half an hour.

Using one of the larger cooking pots, the Ranger set clean water to heat over the fire, and laid out what herbs and plants he had. "Sufficient," he said to himself, "although not all I would wish." From the packs he removed his own spare tunic, a welcome exchange from the soaked one he was in, some of Sam's clothing, a blanket, and some strips of cloth. With a sudden shock he thought of Merry, and he wondered how Legolas had fared and if he had reached the Golden Wood in time. These strips had been torn below the Gate, when he was hastily patching the dreadful wound Meriadoc had sustained, and Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment, fixing the pale young face in his thoughts and entreating the Valar that he would reach the hands of elven healers before it was too late.

His cowardly retreat made Sam feel even worse. In a twisted form of self-punishment, he stripped off every stitch of clothing and waded into the icy stream, using the rough sand to scrub off the stinking, dried blood and dirt as if he could wash away his humiliation and failure with the abrasiveness. Not content with that, he dunked his clothes into the water and slapped them against a rock until they were as clean as he could get them. Then there was nothing else for it – he had to go back.

Sam donned his dripping clothes, struggling into the wet cloth that clung to him and managed to increase his misery. _'Well,_' thought Sam, _'no worse'n I deserve. How am I ever going 'ta make this up to him? He probably won't even tell Mr Frodo that I fell asleep on watch_.' Wrapping the blanket about him, Sam began to trudge slowly back to camp.

The water was steaming. Aragorn removed the pot from the fire and sat cross-legged upon the ground, within reach of both Frodo and his supplies. He picked up two precious leaves of _athelas_, his only two, and bruised them over the water, dropping the fragrant plant into the pot at once. He breathed deeply of the steam, then gently picked up Frodo, blankets and all, and cradled the Ring-bearer in his lap. How light he was! The Ranger folded back the blankets. Aragorn needed to bathe him, but he wanted to do so without getting him chilled, if possible. The hobbit showed no signs of waking, but he breathed evenly and was warm to the touch, which was encouraging.

Carefully, Aragorn propped Frodo into a sitting position and unfastened his cloak. He pulled it off and set it aside, followed by his sword and his pack, which was still fastened closed and hopefully not filled with sand. Working quickly, the man unbuttoned coat and weskit, easing them from the little shoulders with great gentleness. The buttons on the shirt were absurdly tiny, and the Ranger felt a pang of anxiety – he was so small, this hobbit, so small and so very, very important. He had sworn to protect Frodo, and the Quest, with his life if need be, but the man feared that even his life would not be enough.

As he eased the layers of clothing from the hobbit's upper body, Aragorn discovered the tightly clenched fist. A short length of chain ran from beneath the small one's fingers, and the Ranger was sure that the Ring lay hidden in Frodo's hand. With gentle care, the man eased coat, weskit, and shirt over the closed fist, not attempting to open Frodo's fingers and trying not to touch the chain at all.

The mithril coat was another matter. Its fit was far more snug and, although the Ranger was able to work it over the hobbit's head and one arm, the sleeve refused to go over the closed fist. The man took several breaths. He had seen Frodo's reaction when perceiving a threat to the Ring, and he was not sure what reaction he was going to get if the hobbit woke to find him taking It from his grasp.

Lying the hobbit back down upon his lap, the Ranger bent over him, pressing his weight gently against Frodo. With one hand he held the hobbit's wrist, and with the other he began to peel the fingers open. He listened closely for changes in Frodo's breathing, and was careful not to touch chain or Ring as the small hand began to unfurl.

Slowly, slowly, the man uncurled the clenched digits, speaking softly in Elvish to comfort himself as much as Frodo, should the little one awaken. Slowly, slowly, he turned the wrist so as to allow the heavy ball of sand, chain and Ring to fall onto the pile of clothing he had already removed from the hobbit.

It fell with a muffled yet audible thud onto the filthy shirt, and after several heartbeats of silence, Aragorn let loose a long sigh of relief. He sat upright, slipped the mithril shirt over the slackened hand, and laid it carefully over the Ring. What a wonder this piece of mail was! Why, it weighed nothing at all! If the hobbit could bear it, Aragorn intended to ask that he put it on again and continue to wear it even in sleep. Better protection he could not provide than this silvery coat of precious metal, and who knew how many times it had already saved the Ring-bearer's life.

Gingerly, the man propped Frodo again into a sitting position and removed his leather undertunic. A hiss escaped his lips when he saw what lay beneath. Frodo's right side was blackened and bruised from armpit to waist, and there were a few places where the rings of the dwarf-mail had driven through leather and into flesh. These areas were crusted with dried blood, and the man felt sure the Ring-bearer had been running with broken ribs for hours. Frodo's left side was also bruised, and he had several minor cuts on his arms, hands and legs from orc blades. The resilience of these small creatures amazed him! Gandalf had said it was so, but the Ranger knew few men who would endure such injuries in silence, for so long.

His heart full of fresh sorrow, Aragorn began to bathe the hobbit, soaking clean cloth in the warmed _athlelas_ water and washing away mud, blood, and sand from Frodo's small body. He worked quickly, not wishing to chill the small one, but making sure each bruise and cut received a sluicing of the healing water. He squeezed clean water from another skin through the matted curls, and gently wiped the slack face, wondering that Frodo had not yet woken, and hoping that the hobbit was deep in healing sleep and not unconscious from internal bleeding.

Using soft cloths, Aragorn padded and bound the hobbit's ribcage, and slipped a fresh tunic over his limp form. He wrapped the little one in the clean blanket and laid him as close to the fire as he safely could. Then he turned back to the fire. He had medicines to make, and Sam would need tending as well. Where was Sam, anyway? The man had worked swiftly, but Samwise would have returned as quickly as possible, he was sure.

When Frodo awoke it was to the warmth and crackling of a fire, and for a while he just drifted between sleep and awareness. Finally, he sighed, and shifted, his hand, as it was wont to do, as if on its own, reached toward his breast, for the burden that lay hidden there.

And found nothing.

Frodo sat bolt upright, both hands groping about his shirt. Aragorn was at hand, and turned towards him, startled.

"Where is It?" Frodo cried in agony. "Aragorn, It's gone! It cannot have fallen into that sand, please, say It did not! If that creature Gollum has taken It, then we must follow him, and now! He will take It to the Enemy! I cannot have lost It, not after all we have been through, all we have just lost! It cannot be!"

Tears running down his face, Frodo looked desperately at the Ranger.

Aragorn was calmly simmering herbs. He lifted his palms in a gesture of peace and spoke quietly, "No, Frodo, It did not fall into the sands, thanks to your mighty grasp." He smiled at the hobbit, reassured to see colour flushing the pale cheeks. The _athelas_ was surely at work in him already. "It is beside you, safe beneath your mithril shirt." His face turned serious. "I did not touch It, Frodo."

Frodo fumbled through the pile of damp and dirty clothing, his hand closing around the Ring tightly. He heaved a sigh of relief and clutched It to his chest, closing his eyes.

"Thank you, Aragorn," he said, opening his eyes after a moment. "You have saved It, and me, and the Quest yet again. I feared… to fail now would be like throwing away the many sacrifices of the last day. It would be too much to bear!"

Frodo heaved another great sigh, then turned weary eyes to the Ranger. "So, what is our course? Do we travel tonight?" Then, turning and looking about he added, "and where is Sam?"

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The night wore on as Boromir sat guard. He watched the stars slowly trace their paths in the night sky. It wasn't much of a view, looking through the tiny hole, but he was trying to be patient. They were so close to freedom and yet still so far away. He felt bone weary and sleep called to him more and more enticingly, soothingly, urging him to relax, to close his eyes…

A moment later, he was up and pacing quietly to stave off sleep. He really should wake Peregrin for a watch. But looking at the sleeping youngster, rolled in Boromir's own cloak, head cradled, somehow looking even comfortable on a pack, Boromir did not have the heart to wake the lad. _'Let him sleep. I'll need his sharp eyes and hearing tomorrow.'_

As he walked about the chamber, peeking into dark crevices and up at still darker ceilings he concentrated on how to move quickly with as much of their gear as could be managed. He set about redistributing their possessions and weapons. This was not an easy task as it meant first divesting Peregrin of his "pillow" and then Gimli of his supports.

He could not help but jostle Gimli. Carefully he helped the dwarf settle back down, lying flat now without the packs and just his cloak folded up under his head. Gimli mumbled and tried to sit up but he was deep in his slumber and was fighting hard to gain consciousness. "Sleep," he told his friend. "It's not yet your watch, Master Dwarf."

Making two packs out of three was short work. He gave Peregrin the bulkiest and lightest things. He threw out some of his own unnecessary items, a few items of clothing, and an old waterskin that had sprung a leak. He debated long and hard about doing the same with the others' possessions. He decided he'd make a pile of what he deemed could be left behind and let them each decide. He made certain he, himself, had not kept anything that was not absolutely essential for survival or completely irreplaceable.

When he laid out the hobbit's things, he found many reminders of "hobbit comfort" as he had heard Aragorn call them. Fluff-and-stuff Faramir would have deemed them. Handkerchiefs, two combs, one small and curved, meant for hobbit feet, and an ordinary one, though Boromir could not recall if he'd ever actually seen Peregrin use a comb that was not thrust upon him by one of his cousins. Soap? He smiled at the luxurious quality of that particular item – scented and blue, paper, ink, wax, quills, the lad's Yule shirt, some underlinen, two letters and a very small journal.

This last was beautifully bound in soft worn brown leather. The pages had been replaced. He did not look inside of course, but it was easy to see that the pages themselves had been rebound and were much newer than the original cover. He turned it over in his hand, marvelling at how tiny it was, smaller than he'd ever be able to use. But then hobbit hands were far daintier than his ever were.

He felt some embossing on the front near the bottom and curiosity got the better of him. He took the small book to the hole through which a meagre amount of light from the night sky shone faintly. It took many minutes to discern it was a name embossed on the cover. His fingers and a faint memory of a conversation about a birthday gift from one cousin to another finally worked the puzzle.

Closing his eyes and licking the tips of his fingers and searching his memory he made out the name of a familiar hobbit. Frodo Baggins. Worry about the Ring and Ring-bearer gripped him suddenly and violently. He dropped the journal as his breath caught in his throat!

May the Ring-bearer and his precious burden be safe! If they were to prise their way from this jail and somehow make it to safety only to find that Frodo had fallen to some evil, then all this would be for nothing!

The tightness in his chest eased nearly as quickly as it came and he sat down slowly, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms about them. Lying his head down atop his knees, he closed his eyes again. Moments passed. The realisation that he could still hear his two companions breathing easily in sleep filtered through to him.

With his head still on his knees, he opened his eyes and spied the little journal lying on the floor by his feet. Tenderly he picked it up and dusted it off. He strode over to where he'd left the packs and with no hesitation placed the small book back into the hobbit's pack. The ink, papers, wax and the grooming items he left out in a pile for the owner to go through.

The morning was coming. He could smell it. He'd need an hour's sleep before they moved on. Best to wake Peregrin.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

It was a stand-off.

Haldir watched coolly as the woman advanced toward Legolas wielding a broom but stopped five feet away and advanced no further, her eyes constantly flicking from Merry to Legolas, to her husband and back again.

The man blocking their escape was another matter, Haldir locked eyes with the human who tried to jab at him with the pronged tool. Putting as much malice and promise of pain into that stare as he could muster, which was considerable, he slowly, deliberately, unsheathed his hunting knives and watched as the man's eyes faltered and eventually settled on the slow-moving, gleaming knives as they came to rest, slightly crossed, in front of the elf's body.

The human remained mesmerised watching the faint light in the cabin play off their sharpened edges. Haldir lightly tapped the blades together and as the clear sound rang out, the human's eyes flicked back up to meet his. He could clearly read fear within their depths, but frowned as the human widened his stance and narrowed his eyes, _'Stubborn idiot!'_ Haldir silently cursed, for his intent had been to intimidate the man into backing down without a fight.

Legolas clutched Merry to him as the woman approached swinging a broom at him yet trying to keep a broom's length away from him. Legolas tried in vain to reason with her, hoping against hope that he would be able to reach her and that the humans in this region were not as prejudiced as the ones Orophin had encountered.

"Lady, please accept my apology on behalf of myself and my friend for the intrusion but our time is short, Merry needs aid or his wound…" Legolas' clear voice cut through the deathly silence that had settled over the occupants of the cabin, breaking the standoff.

However, using the diplomatic skill demanded of him in his father's court achieved nothing. It actually seemed to have made matters worse as the woman now started to shout to her husband a warning," Mister Tugman! Cover thy ears, he be trying to cast an evil spell on us'n! Both on they! See as how theys be a'glowing!"

As his mind tried to understand the unfamiliar accent he realised that she thought he was trying to enthral her with his voice. How novel. In other circumstances he would have laughed at such a notion for, even amongst his kind, such a gift was rare and indeed, both his and Haldir's inner light had grown a little brighter in their agitation. "No, you misunderstand, we mean you no harm."

"No harm!" She spat, "A' sneaking into honest folks' homes like thieves in the dead of night and stealing away ourn little un! What kind of pointy-eared devils do thee be?"

"For the intrusion I have already apologised, but you are mistaken if you think my friend here is a child, he is a hobbit from the Shire," As her lips thinned and her brows drew closer together in a clear show of disbelief Legolas shifted Merry's weight to his left arm and fumbled with his blanket until a hair-covered, thick-soled foot poked out. "You see, he is not human Lady, but a halfling, for though to you or I he looks like a child, he has already seen thirty-six summers and is deemed an adult by his people."

"Oi'll grant you that his feet be strange and over-hairy but Oi've seen lads grow and sometimes some parts o' they reach manhood afore the rest of they, but in time the rest on theys bodies catch up! Oi'll not believe thy wicked lies!" She finished, taking a half-step towards him.

"What of his ears then?" A hint of annoyance crept into his voice. "How do you explain away those? Are they not more similar in shape to my own than to yours?" At her baffled expression he flipped the edge of the blanket back over Merry's foot and turned so that Merry's head was closer to her and brushed back the thick curls to reveal one distinctly pointed ear, different from the elves, yet definitely not human.

She gasped and raised a hand to her lips, shaking her head in denial as the evidence of Merry's heritage glared out at her, softly illuminated by Legolas' own glowing hand which remained tangled in Merry's locks.

Merry moved restlessly against Legolas' chest and whimpered in distress. The situation was clearly unsettling him and Legolas would not see him distressed further. He backed up until his shoulders touched Haldir's broad ones and slipped back into Elvish, "We cannot linger here, it is distressing Merry, but I do not wish to harm them, they mean well".

Haldir ground his teeth further at the soft-hearted prince "Mean well indeed!" Just as he was about to reply the woman lunged toward Legolas in a desperate bid to dislodge Merry.

Legolas stepped lightly away and to the side, allowing her own momentum to propel her past him, before he neatly twisted the broom from her grasp with one hand. She landed heavily on her bottom and paled as she grasped around the floor in front of her blindly for the broom, too scared to look anywhere but at Legolas before realising that he now held her only weapon.

Legolas felt a pang of regret as he watched the woman scratch around for her pathetic weapon; her fear perfumed the air yet the determination to _'rescue'_ Merry still remained. He had not meant to let her fall but with broom in one hand and an arm full of Merry occupying the other he was out of limbs.

He placed the broom against the wall nearest to him and offered her his hand. This seemed to puzzle her as her brows drew together in confusion, a clear question in her eyes. He smiled at her and placed a soft kiss on Merry's crown hoping she would understand that they both had common purpose and that he meant neither Merry nor her harm.

Legolas watched as her hand twitched and began to move hesitantly but the gesture was never completed as her husband's outraged cry at his wife's treatment moved him to action.

'Mister Tugman', locked eyes with the Marchwarden and swung the pikestaff viciously from side to side hoping to slash the silver-haired elf's chest wide open, but Haldir easily evaded such an obvious and slow manoeuvre, anger turning his winter-blue orbs violet as a simple task had been made impossibly difficult by the prince's soft heart. Had he his own way he would have overpowered and bound the both of them and be done with it!

In a flash of movement, too quick for the human eye to follow, Haldir's blades sliced through the air before being drawn back. He watched as the human stopped his advance when the metal head of his implement clattered noisily to the wooden floor and lay between them. The man looked incredulously from his now headless pikestaff to Haldir and the Marchwarden was satisfied when the man took several steps back, his thin frame trembling in the moonlit doorway.

"How dare thee treat us'n like this, this be our home and thee have no rights here, leave the babe and get out!" His voice gruff as fear constricted his throat like an invisible hand.

Haldir was through with diplomacy and it showed, as with feline grace he stalked the short distance to the man until mere feet separated them, "No Human! This wood is my home, and has been my people's home for longer than your feeble mind can ever imagine!" He looked over the man's shoulder and smiled dangerously.

At that moment, as the human stared fearfully back at the smiling elf, he felt something sharp prod him on the shoulder and whirled round to find himself staring at two more of the ethereal demons, bows nocked and arrows trained on him.

"Legolas!" Haldir called over his shoulder but continued to speak in Westron, "Enough, I tire of this folly, humans in these parts are as ignorant and misguided as I have said, their heads are full of nothing but old wives' tales and gossip. Now we are leaving!"

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

After a good stretch, a drink of water and more of the everlasting apple rings, Pippin went through the oddments that Boromir had suggested might lighten the load a bit. He kept his Yule shirt his mother had made for him, and the two letters, one of which was from his mother, the last she had sent to him at Brandy Hall before the start of this journey of which his family had known nothing, full of the news of Tuckborough, the Smials and the family. It was a lifeline to his home, as much as Merry and Frodo and Sam were, and contained bits and pieces of news about plans for the Harvest Fest that would have been held the day that the hobbits and Strider left Bree, some questions about Pippin's 28th birthday party that would have taken place a little over a fortnight later, a mention of his father's joint-ache, a description of the new shawl she was making for Briony for Yule, how a very pregnant Pearl was getting along, and snippets about Vinca and Pimmie.

The second letter was quite different. Only Merry and Sam knew about it, as Pippin didn't want to worry Frodo any more than he was already worried. It was a letter of love and good-bye to his family, in case he didn't return from this adventure. He didn't go into specifics of course, in case the letter fell into the wrong hands, but he reasoned that what he was unable to write for safety sake would be explained by whoever had survived to deliver the letter. Unless he ended up dying away from his kin, in a place such as he was in now. He hadn't ever really thought of that. He sighed, and remembered his dream about Merry. He would be reunited with him soon, he could feel it. He would get out of here, and so would Boromir and Gimli. They would find the others, heal their wounds, and finish the Quest, and then go home.

Everything else, underlinen, soap, ink, quills, wax, a comb and his handkerchiefs, went into Boromir's pile of unnecessary items that could be left behind. Pippin smiled when he added the handkerchiefs to the pile... he was quite certain Sam would have more. Sam always had handkerchiefs on hand for Cousin Frodo and where he came up with them was a mystery that had delighted all of the cousins for years. The foot comb Pippin considered for a moment with shining eyes, then put into his pocket. It had been a gift from Merry and he couldn't bear to part with it.

That done, Pippin paced the chamber, listened to his companions snoring, and awaited the dawn and freedom.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"Right here, Mr Frodo!" The blanket still pulled tightly around his dripping form, Sam bustled up, his sharp grey eyes taking in his washed and just-awakened master, and the evidence of tears still on his face. "What's wrong? Are you all right?" If that Man had hurt Frodo … heir of Kings or not, Sam was going to give him the sharp edge of his tongue and no mistake.

"I'm all right Sam," Frodo managed a sad smile at the other's proprietary anxiety, "I'm just tired."

Still trying to understand what could have happened that would cause Frodo to weep Sam knelt before him and looked into his eyes not liking the distress he saw there. Most likely worry and grief for his two younger cousins, but it wouldn't do to say so. "Mr Frodo? You do look somewhat cold. How 'bout I build up the fire?"

"You better had," Frodo noticed for the first time how wet Sam was, "Why Sam, you're soaked through, you'll catch your death of…" Frodo trailed off. The casual euphemism suddenly struck Frodo deeply. Death had been doled out in no uncertain measures this day. "I'm sorry, Sam, yes it's cold. If Aragorn thinks it safe, a bigger fire would be welcome."

"Here let me," Aragorn joined Sam adding more wood, grateful himself for the warmth. "We all need a little warmth before we can continue."

Sam shivered, that stream had been powerful cold, but he was expecting both Frodo and Strider to be even colder. Hadn't Aragorn told his master that he had fallen asleep on guard? Wasn't he going to? Caught between his need to confess his unforgivable lapse and praying Frodo never found out, Sam was nearly torn in two.

He dared a look into the Ranger's eyes. He hadn't told Frodo; Sam could see it in the gentle understanding of the Man's gaze. In spite of what might have happened, it seemed that Aragorn had forgiven him. But could Sam forgive himself?

Only by doing what he always did, what the Gaffer had taught him was the only resolution to failure. Work harder. Ignoring his exhaustion, he looked over the crackling flames at his master. "You're going to need them clothes, Mr Frodo. I'll give them an' your pack a quick wash back at the stream. Mr Aragorn's pulled out some clean things for you, I see." Then he dared to raise his eyes to the Man's. "Thank you, sir," he said softly. Lurching gracelessly to his feet, Sam bent to gather up the pile of filthy things. He wasn't going to fail Frodo again.

Frodo held out a hand, trying to stay Sam's movements. "No, Sam, wait. You look exhausted – leave them, please. Aragorn," he turned to the man, "you haven't answered my question. Before Sam starts arguing with me about washing those clothes, tell me if we travel further today, and to where."

The Ranger looked from one Hobbit to another, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Would that he had an army of men with such brave hearts and tenacious wills as these little folk possessed! He cast his eyes about, taking in the setting sun, the overhanging trees; listening, and hearing no sound other than the rustlings of small animals and birds.

"We will go no further tonight. Sam, you need tending. We are weary, hurt and grieved, we must take some food, and I believe we are safe from Gollum, at least for a little time." He smiled reassuringly at them, sparing an extra nod of approval to Sam, as he could see that the younger hobbit was clouded in guilt.

"I have prepared a poultice for your wounds with the remaining _Glaslichen_. I will take Frodo's pack and clothes," he raised a hand to forestall Sam's argument, "and my bow in hope of getting something for supper which will lend us strength."

He looked grimly at the dripping gardener. "Your assignment, Samwise, is to bathe all of your hurts in the remaining athelas water." He gestured towards the largest pot, set next to the fire. "Frodo has already been bathed. Then, I want each of you to apply this poultice to every cut and scratch you can find. Help one another, that you might miss no wound, no matter how small. Orc blades are often poisoned."

The Ranger stood, picking up his bow, quiver, and the bundle from beside Frodo. As an afterthought, he scooped up the waterskins that were empty, as well.

"I will be back before sun sets," he assured them, "If I do not find game quickly, we will make do with what is in our packs."

He touched each hobbit briefly on the tops of their curly heads, then turned once more for the stream.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Gimli woke to the smell of apples, and the warmth of a small body sitting next to him. "My dear Peregrin," he murmured, voice clogged with sleep. "Did your cousins not teach you to share?"

Pippin beamed at him in the grey light, and handed him a grubby ring of dried apple. Then he put his fingers to his lips with one hand and pointed with the other. Gimli saw that Boromir was asleep, and Pippin thus on watch. Dawn must be upon them, he thought, chewing contentedly. They had survived another night.

Gimli felt rested and, although his leg ached miserably, it was a dull throb and not the sharp spikes of pain that had stabbed each movement the previous day. Pippin and Boromir's makeshift splint worked well.

He twisted around, mentally reviewing where they were. Not too far from the small door that would lead them out of this cursed hole. Gimli was ashamed of his feelings; many kinsmen had died here, struggling to re-open the mines of Khazad-dûm; he honoured them and their effort, but he longed desperately to escape the tomb it had become.

"We must go," he said at last, and cleared his throat. Boromir jerked awake, blinking in the dim light. "Come, my children," Gimli said firmly. "Help this dwarf to his feet and let us leave. I am tired of skulking in the shadows; outside, day is breaking. I will see this dawn or die."

He turned to Pippin. "You, Master Hobbit, will listen to me for once. No matter what happens, you do not stop. If we encounter the enemy and I should stumble, or Boromir or I should fall, you run. Hobbits are quick and sure-footed; flee to the forest and seek what help you may find there."

"You're not going to fall Gimli," Pippin stood up dusting his grubby hands together as if that might help to clean them. "Nor is Boromir – are you?" Pippin frowned as if the idea had only just occurred to him that the great warrior might be vulnerable to such things.

"Now listen, young Peregrin, your cousins need you more than either of us do." Gimli looked at Boromir, who slowly nodded. "So if by chance I do stumble while we are under attack, and you do return, then the last thing I do will be to send you on your way with a clout round the ear. Do you understand me, youngster?" He finished with a growl.

Pippin stared wide-eyed, "Erm, yes Gimli, if you say so." For once Pippin was too surprised to argue but nodded obediently.

"Very well. Man of Gondor," Gimli announced, "get me out of here."

Boromir stood, stretched, and smiled. Pippin picked up his small pack and braced himself, as if readying for a sprint. Gimli studied his two companions and smiled deep in his beard. Then Boromir slung his arm around Gimli's back and reached around his chest, gripping him firmly, making the Dwarf feel simultaneously safe and ridiculous.

Pippin darted ahead of them, silent as only a hobbit can be. "Pippin!" Gimli whispered, and the hobbit twisted back, eyes bright. "The door is just around the corner. Pay close heed to your surroundings; you are small, but not so small to be beneath an orc's notice. The door will feel smooth, and is rounded at the top and carved cunningly into the stone; you will have to hunt for it as it is not made to be seen by the casual eye."

"I think I may have found it last night, by touch. But doesn't it need starlight?" Pippin asked, "Like at the entrance? Gandalf said…"

"No," Gimli interrupted forestalling Pippin's thoughts running in that direction, "it does not require starlight to be seen; what starlight would reach us here? But the path will run directly to it. Walk wisely, stay alert, and when you reach the door, touch it lightly. You will feel the seam before you can see it. Trace it up, above your head, until you feel lettering. Press there, as hard as you can; lean your entire bodyweight into it."

Boromir tugged at Gimli, and they both exhaled heavily as they began to shuffle towards freedom. They made far more noise than Gimli was comfortable with, and he deliberately slowed their progress to give Pippin plenty of time to find the opening mechanism and escape in case their progress was overheard.

They turned the final corner, Gimli gasping, the pain in his leg more shocking with every step, even though Boromir kept most of the weight off it. He felt sweat soak into his beard and clothing, and clung unashamedly to the Man's arms. Ahead of them, Pippin was at the end of the path, staring at the wall blocking their exit. It truly looked impassable. As Gimli watched, Pippin reached out and gently patted the stone, then began sliding his small fingers over and above his head. Gimli saw when he found the seam; his little body jerked to attention and he rose on his toes, pushing his hands up as high as he could reach. Then Pippin leaned forward, arching his back and pushing so hard his feet skidded backwards. Was he too small and slight to engage the hidden latch?

Abruptly, Pippin fell outwards onto his face, as misty morning light spilled into Khazad-Dûm. Boromir took an enormous breath and practically pulled Gimli off his feet, hastening them both towards the fresh air.

At last, they were outside the Mines of Moria.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

**To Be Continued**

**Author Notes**

Hello loyal readers and reviewers, Pippin in the Chair this chapter, with a little help from my big cousin Merry (when he can rouse himself from warm milk and sleeping!)

Hope you enjoyed this chapter and, if you are reading it over the Yuletide, hope you have a peaceful and pleasant holiday with your kith and kin and certainly a less stressful time than our poor Fellowship are having right now.

So without further ado – on to your comments and our humble observations.

**Klnolan**: This story is cool so please, please up date it soon. PLEASE. PLEASE.PLEASE.  
**Merry**: No need to yell – oh, or perhaps there is. Sorry for the delay but the next chapter will be along shortly!

**Lily**: Oh, Merry, stop causing so many problems!  
**Merry**: I'm not causing problems – I having them caused for me! I'm actually a victim of my own popularity – elves want me, Tugmans want me, Pip wants me! Who will be the lucky winner?  
**Lily**- It seems as if when something even REMOTELY promising or good happens, something, or SOMEONE "cough" Gimli, Legolas, Frodo, Gollum, Tugman "cough" messes it up again.  
**Pippin** – Well done not mentioning my name there! As everyone knows, I never mess up anything…well, there was that incident with the stone down the well…

**txmedic37** :I can't wait to see how all the threads come together.  
**Merry**: That is assuming that they do.

**melilot hill** - I really love this story and think Llinos is doing a wonderful job turning a rp into such a great story!  
**Pippin** – She is, isn't she?

**Hyperactive Forever:** Legolas and Haldir, I have two words for you: RUN FAST! Merry and Pippin, reunited in dreams...how CUTE! and Gimli thinks Boromir is like Merry, lololololol! No Rumil or Orophin this chapter, please put them back soon! THEY'RE THE BESTEST! Second ONLY to Elladan and Elrohir! On the hobbit side of the spectrum, PIPPIN! he's so CUTE when he's tired!  
**Pippin** – I am cute ALL of the time! And brave, and cheerful, and modest…**Merry**: I'm cute too! Especially when I'm all helpless and hurted.  
**Hyperactive Forever:** Frodo, getting a little egotistical there, hm?  
**Merry**: Nothing new to see here – move along please.  
**  
Mae Ari:** Oh, wow. This story is so addicting. I love stories that a lot of plotlines going through it at once, and your characterizations of all the characters are so wonderful. It's both original and unique, yet with the taste of Tolkien. )  
**Pippin** – Thank you for the wonderful compliments!  
**Mae Ari:** I hope things get sorted out with Merry.  
**Merry**: I'm afraid things are going from bad to worse with me – please keep nagging the authors to take better care of me.

**Maripo5a**: Sorry Frodo didn't have too much to do in this one. Aragorn, you bathed?!? **_Notes date on calendar_** Pippin--ah, c'mere Pip, you fabulous hobbit you. **_hugs Pip_** (snip) Merry--just rest, dearest.  
**Merry**: Frodo is a lazy so-and-so and Aragorn was a tad smelly. I'd appreciate you not hugging Pip as that is my prerogative, but I shall take the rest of your advice and have a forty winks.

**anonymous**: I love this story so much as it is just absolutely brilliant!  
We loves it precious and wants more of it!  
**Pippin** – Gollum? Is that you?  
**anonymous**: Merry and Pippin need to see each other again!!  
**Merry**: Yes I need to see Pippin again – if you see him first will you tell him I miss him? Thanks

**domstygerr** - Pippin my brave lad, you are the star of this story!!  
**Pippin** – I am just one star in a constellation of eight, but I am sending you a big hug anyway : )  
**domstygerr**: As for the writers, you are the best around, keep it up. Llinos, you are the MOST MAGNIFICENT as Knitted Merry would say, LOVE YOU :)  
**Pippin** – On behalf of the writers, thank you! And Llinos IS a most magnificent editor, is she not?  
**Merry**: I'm not sure that KM would think Llinos to be Magnificent – only he is allowed that title!

**SirNotAppearingInThisFilm**: I like Pippin!! He's awesome in this story! :) UPDATE OR FACE MY WRATH! ;)  
**Pippin** – Just in this story? I am glad that you like it, and there will be another update very soon!  
**  
pipinheart**: Pippin seems a big help, and may have grown up a little in this little adventure...  
**Pippin** – No, really I am just shamming at being grown up out of necessity, and I plan to go back to being an irresponsible tween just as soon as I have the opportunity.  
**  
storyfish**: And the plot thickens...  
**Pippin** – If it gets any thicker I may just turn around and go home!  
**storyfish**: Also, Boromir-Pippin-&-Gimli found starlight, moonlight, fresh air!  
**Pippin** – Yay especially to the fresh air. It's unfortunate, but dwarves don't bathe much more often than Rangers. It' was a bit close in the Mines.  
**storyfish**: The Tugmans are adorable, even if they are a little misguided. I hope Legolas goes easy on the would-be adoptive parents of our poor injured Merry.  
**Merry**: I don't know, I'm quite enjoying being babied, warm milk, opium and a large bosom – what more could an injured hobbit ask?  
**  
lindahoyland** - full of the unexpected, Aragorn has a bath…  
**Pippin** - And he washed his hair!  
**lindahoyland** - I liked how brave, Pippin ,Boromir and Gimli were. Very exciting.  
**Pippin** - It was exciting wasn't it? I think that Boromir and Gimli might have been a bit frightened though.

**girlofring1** - oh bugger another chapter to wait before poor Frodo gets his warm bath, and injuries tended to?  
**Pippin** – And he slept right through the whole thing. Though if Aragorn were giving me a bath I think that I would prefer not to know about it either.

**Ice Ember** - I just wanted to let y'all know that you make my day whenever you update.  
**Pippin** - And you make our day whenever you review! Thank you!

**Earelwen** - I am officially hooked on this story! I need you to update soon!  
**Pippin** – Watch for another chapter very soon!

**Nayana Baggins** - Just to let you know, I think Boromir's hot! "smiles seductively"  
**Pippin** – Do you think he is? I found it to be very cold in the Mines myself. "winks".

**Mystarri** - The Tugmans, I am sure, mean well, but I do wish they would just give elves a chance!  
**Pippin** – They are obviously not so worldly as I am. Probably haven't travelled and rubbed elbows with lots of different cultures. I recommend travel, it's very broadening (for the mind and the waist!).

**Stefanie Dale** - I adore how each character is getting a chance to shine out his strengths. Pippin gets to prove that yes, he is in fact competent.  
**Pippin** – Cousin Merry was – I mean is (I hope) a very good role model.  
**Stefanie Dale** - The only mistakes I noted were that there were some instances of dropped commas. Or maybe my grammar's bad, and there's nothing wrong. Either way. Trying to make this "well rounded critique,"  
**Pippin** - Thank you for caring enough to write a "well rounded critique." However in the modern day Shire, the home of our devoted editor, the punctuation is correct. Modern day Shirefolk use a minimum of punctuation-thingees such as commas, far fewer than Americans – not wrong – just different.  
**Stefanie Dale** - I absolutely love this, which is only sad, because I'm ADORING Boromir, but I know his fate.  
**Pippin** – Do you? Is it good? Does he return in glory to Minas Tirith, because I know that he would like that.


	12. Guilt and Care

The East Gate

Authors The Eastgaters

Cast list  
Frodo – Baylor  
Samwise – Budgielover  
Pippin – Marigold  
Merry – Llinos  
Legolas – Mainframe  
Aragorn – Nilramiel  
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker  
Gimli – Q  
Gollum – Llinos  
The Wicked Elves – Baylor & Mainframe  
Mister and Missus Tugman – Llinos

Story Editor - Llinos  
Beta - Marigold

Chapter 12 – Guilt and Care

Frodo finally slipped the chain back around his neck and let go of the Ring, first tucking it into his tunic. Then he turned to look at a forlorn Sam and smiled kindly. "Come on, Sam," he said. "We have orders to follow."

Gently, he coaxed Sam into tugging off some of his drenched clothes and washing with the hot, athelas-infused water. The herb's scent cleared both hobbits' heads and eased their weariness and hurts a little. Then, Frodo took the poultice and began a careful examination and treatment of his friend. Sam's stocky body bore many bruises, scrapes and cuts, as well as the gash on his forehead, and Frodo's brow wrinkled with concern as he applied the poultice liberally. "That's a really nasty wound you took here Sam," he clucked, dabbing at the gash.

"Nowt worse'n I deserve," Sam muttered sullenly. Throughout the bathing process, Sam had been silent and morose, daring only quick, guilty looks at his master. Now this self-deprecating remark confirmed to Frodo that Sam was upset about something.

When it became apparent that Sam would not speak his mind, Frodo prodded him. "Come, Sam, will you not tell me what troubles you? It is clear something does, and you never keep secrets from me. Do not do so now! Tell me what is wrong," he implored.

Sam should have known he couldn't hide anything from his master. Those brilliant blue eyes could look into him and see right through to the back of his skull. Or the empty space between his ears, he thought despondently. But the truth of his crime stuck between his teeth.

The sweet steam of the athelas-water cleared his head; the gash on his forehead no longer burned quite so fiercely and his thoughts were clearer. He had not protested when Frodo had examined him and then used his own hands to treat his hurts and apply the healing poultices. He knew that Frodo cared more for him than the impropriety of a master caring for his servant. He had known Frodo since he was nine and his master had come to live with old Mr Bilbo, and had met him even before that when the young master had visited.

On one of those early visits, the gaffer had brought Sam along to weed the strawberry beds while he discussed the root-plantings with Mr Bilbo. "Them strawberries belong to the master, Sam," his da had warned the child. "You keep your fingers on the weeds an' your mind on your work." Sam had meant to obey, truly. But surely the master wouldn't miss one or two of the plump red berries, so clean and shining on their nests of straw. Mr Bilbo adhered to the traditional way of growing strawberries – the plants sat above the nurturing ground on beds of sweet, fragrant straw and never touched the earth. Somehow one strawberry or two became ten, then twenty. Pull a few weeds, eat a strawberry. Before Sam quite knew what had happened, he'd eaten almost an entire bed. Small hands groped for another strawberry and did not find one. Sam looked over at the bed in puzzlement. But for one, they were gone. Sam froze, disbelief and burgeoning terror in his grey eyes. It was impossible. How had that happened?

"Hullo, Sam. Is something wrong?" Sam had whirled at the gentle voice, his heart in his throat. The young master stood there, just come from Buckland to visit his uncle. Seeing the child's terrified expression, Frodo had sunk to one knee to look into his eyes.

Choking, Sam had blurted out his crime then burst into tears. Instead of scolding him or giving him the wallop he deserved, the almost-tweenager had laughed quietly and used the fine linen of his shirt cuffs to dry Sam's eyes. He picked the single remaining strawberry and regarded it. Then he had put a hand on the child's shoulder and steered Sam back to his father. Sam's gaffer and the master were in deep discussion of the planting of the 'tater beds, greying heads close together in serious conversation. "Bilbo," Frodo had said casually, "is it all right if Sam and I eat the strawberries?" He deliberately pulled out the single surviving strawberry and ate it. The gaffer had turned around and seen the signs of tears and red fruit stains on his son, and his work-worn, honest face had flushed with anger. Sam had pressed back against Frodo, trembling.

But Bilbo had more important things on his mind. "Eat them all, lads. Now, Master Hamfast, what were you saying about 'tater-bugs?'" Drawing his gardener back to the matter at hand, the old hobbit had waved a negligent hand at them and added they could have the gooseberries, too, if they wanted. Frodo had nodded easily and guided Sam around the corner of the smial. Then he had collapsed back against the cool grass and laughed at Sam's expression. "Let that be a lesson to you, young Samwise," Frodo had said with a grin. "Things aren't always as terrible as you make them out to be. Most of the time, they aren't terrible at all." 'Aren't terrible at all,' Sam thought. That was so many years ago...

This was different, though. This wasn't an innocent mistake. What if that Gollum-creature had come back? Or orcs? He had been entrusted with Frodo's life and safety – and indirectly, with the hope of Middle-earth because of what his master carried – and he had gone to sleep on watch. That nothing had happened did not make his crime any less.

Sam swallowed against a painfully dry throat. He could not meet those deep bluebell coloured eyes; instead he stared at the dark curling hair on Frodo's feet. "When you were sleeping, sir…" He gulped, tears threatening anew. He was profoundly glad that Aragorn had returned to the stream. Then he forced his eyes up and confessed, "I went to sleep. When you were sleeping an' Strider'd gone to get the water. I went to sleep, Mr Frodo, an' left you alone."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"UP! Up and be swift!" Boromir whispered fiercely to the prostrate hobbit. Though Boromir longed to shout in wild abandon, all his senses screamed at him to be as silent as he could. He noted the dwarf intently scanning the horizon as Peregrin practically bounced to his feet with the pack already gathered up and secured.

Boromir let go of his charge to lean down and quietly speak into Peregrin's ear. "Use that uncanny hobbit hearing, lad, and tell us if you hear anything amiss!" Even as he spoke, he noted Gimli swivelling as best he could to check their backs, making sure no one followed.

The door swung closed behind them, once more vanishing into the face of the rock until such time as dwarf or wizard should need it again.

With no time to breathe deep or to stop and stare at the wonder of the new dawn or the miraculous hidden door, Boromir gathered up his energy, gave a gentle shove to the hobbit to move him along and wrapped his arm about the dwarf, this time not allowing Gimli to even begin putting any weight on the broken leg. He'd clout the dwarf if he so much as protested but to his sheer amazement and utter relief, the sturdy warrior allowed himself to be manhandled at a fast pace down the faint trail to the freedom they all so sorely craved.

Pippin hurried on, almost unable to believe that they were outside! They were outside those horrible Mines that stunk of orcs and death and misery and evil memory, and he was breathing clean, fresh air once more. He could feel the dew on his face from his unexpected topple forward into the grass, and was glad of it for hopefully his companions could not then see his weakness; tears of joy were running down his face and, were it not for the danger, he would have laughed aloud and danced in the cool grass under the dawning sun!

They walked, or in Gimli and Boromir's case, staggered on, for a couple of hours without a rest, not speaking, even in a whisper, for fear of some spy marking their escape. They came across a stream and followed it down into the gentle foothills that led from the mountains, making sure to stay far enough from its banks to leave no marks.

Gimli's leg spiked with pain at each step, no matter that Boromir was carrying half the dwarf's considerable weight for him, but they were outside, in the sweet morning air, and he'd gladly bear any pain to escape. Gimli watched from the corner of his eye as Pippin darted to and fro like an enthusiastic puppy. He dashed ahead of them, pack flopping on his back with each springing step. Where did the lad find such energy after all he'd been through?

When they came to a rocky area where he would not leave prints in the mud, Pippin wordlessly gathered the water skins and filled them, took them back to Gimli and Boromir and waited, keeping watch as they drained them, then went back again to the stream and refilled them, drinking his own fill, and quickly washing his face and arms. Gimli was glad enough to lean against the trunk of a sturdy tree, and Boromir to rest from their friend's weight for a time, so Pippin sat and paddled his sore feet and legs. His legs and arms were burning dreadfully from the scrapes he had got crawling through the small vent to do his part in opening the passage door and the cooling water was a blessed relief – all they needed now was some real food, and to find the others Pippin thought wistfully.

Gimli watched as the hobbit paddled his furry feet in the water, smiling to himself, perhaps at some memory of his cousins larking together. Knowing hobbits somewhat now, Gimli had no doubt that Pippin carried such memories with him, and would draw upon them to lighten his heart in such dark times.

The Sun had moved well into the West when they next stopped. The stream had joined a larger, noisier river, one that sang more sweetly than any dwarf maiden, perhaps as sweetly as an elf maiden and Gimli remembered with a pang his friend Legolas. Where was he now? Was Merry still alive? Were all of the other members of the Fellowship together, or had they been separated as Boromir, Pippin, and Gimli had been?

T'was an ill day that turned their road to Moria, Gimli thought sadly. He closed his eyes, and the world seemed to tip, as if to meet the sinking Sun. "My friend, you must rest," he heard someone say, and the smell of sweet fresh grass rose around him, cool on his sweating skin. "Gimli, Gimli," he thought he heard Pippin call from far away.

"Yes my lad," he murmured. "I'll be right behind you." His head rested on a hard lumpy object that smelt strongly of sweat and apples, and a small cool hand pressed against his face.

"Ridiculous dwarf," he heard someone mutter, and then he slept.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Frodo looked into Sam's aggrieved eyes and felt a great surge of love for this most loyal of hobbits. He did not know what he had done in his life to deserve the loyalty and faithfulness that Sam pledged freely to him, but at that moment, following a day of horrific losses, he was more grateful than he could express.

"Of course you did, Sam," he said gently. "How could you not? You are no less exhausted than I, and you are injured as well. Gandalf told me that there are other things at work in the world besides evil. Sometimes we just must trust to them to watch out for us. It would seem they have, for no evil befell us while we slept. I do not find fault with you, and furthermore, I am ordering you not to find fault with yourself, or use any of your gaffer's harsh words. Not against my dear Samwise. Now," in a manner that showed he clearly considered the matter settled, Frodo handed Sam the poultice Aragorn had prepared, "I believe Aragorn wants this applied to me, as well."

Sam took the poultice from his master automatically, hands moving while his mind struggled to accept Frodo's words. Too gentle, his master; Sam had always known it. Too easy to trust and too easy to forgive. Just this once, though, Sam couldn't hold it in his heart to regret his master's single flaw.

"Yes, sir," he said softly. The pains of his body had eased with the warm, _glaslichen_-infused poultice, and as Sam let go of his self-condemnation, he found his headache also easing. He had never disobeyed a direct request from Mr Frodo in his life, and if Frodo ordered him not to fault himself, Sam wouldn't. But Mr Frodo hadn't ordered him not to make up for his perceived crime, and Sam still had full intentions to do that.

"Now you just relax, sir," Sam fussed, unaware of the comfort that he was taking in old, familiar patterns. "I'm fine, I am, and I thank you for your care. But it's my turn now and you're not 'ta move."

"All right Sam, I'll behave for you." Frodo gave an exaggerated sigh and sat back.

Samwise had been inspecting Aragorn's poultice while speaking, and had surreptitiously slipped in more of the g_laslichen_ moss he had gathered into the mesh. The plant was somewhat wilted but should still contain its healing virtue. Not listening to his own murmured scoldings and reassurances, he carefully removed the padding Aragorn had bound around Frodo's chest and applied the poultice against the ravaged skin with strips of linen. The bruise where he had taken the spear-point was black and blood-filled, and the look of it filled Sam's heart with fear. The links of Mr Bilbo's mithril-shirt had been driven into Frodo's fair skin and the blood looked like poppies on a field of snow. _'He must__ be hurting something awful,'_ Sam thought, his heart wrung, _'but he__ don't show it._'

"There!" Sam exclaimed briskly, tying off the last of the bandages, hoping they weren't too tight. He stowed the rest of the linens and sat down by Frodo, trying to hide the surge of weariness. They needed to rest, to sleep for more than a few moments, all of them. Perhaps after dinner. His body following his mind, Sam's stomach suddenly let out a loud rumble and the hobbit's round face pinked. "Excuse me," he murmured, "but I wish Mr Strider would come back with some game for my cookpot."

Frodo began to laugh, but then a stabbing pain in his side stilled him. Instead, he chuckled, careful not to move his ribcage as he did so.

"Me, too, Sam," he said. "I cannot even remember when we last ate. Where is Aragorn, anyway?"

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

For a good quarter of an hour the three of them stayed where they were, Gimli unconscious with his head resting on Boromir's thigh. Pippin flopped down next to them, after feeling Gimli's cheek for fever and finding none. He curled up like a kitten alongside Boromir's sheltering frame and seemed to find sleep immediately judging by the soft purring snores that followed.

Their rest was not to last long however. Suddenly a cacophony of howls and thrashing broke out in the undergrowth and trees on the side facing the mountains. Gimli did not wake but Boromir and Pippin were on their feet, weapons drawn, back-to-back in the space of a breath. "Orcs!" Pippin spat, the first thought to cross his mind, "and it isn't even dark yet!"

But it was not orcs. Suddenly bursting from cover and bounding towards them came a magnificent stag, clearly racing in fear of its very life. The stag was almost upon them before it noticed their presence and swerved at the very last second, its hooves nearly clipping Pippin's head as it fled in the direction that the three survivors had come from.

Then came fearful howling and Pippin could do nothing but continue to stand fast with Boromir, guarding their unconscious companion, for out of the high grass, in pursuit of the stag, came a small pack of very large wolves! Six, seven, no eight of them, and all at least as tall as Pippin himself! Not so many as had attacked them the night after they had come down from Caradhras, but then there weren't as many of them to fight them off either. Still, Pippin stood resolutely facing the onrushing pack, a sword in each hand. But apparently the wolves were interested in better tasting prey for after a quick surprised feint and lunge and snapping of great teeth, they swerved to avoid these odd, ill favoured creatures on two legs and kept on in their pursuit of the ill-fated stag.

When he could breathe again Pippin gave a great sigh. "Well, that was lucky. I am sorry for the stag but I have to say I hope that the wolves catch the poor thing. If they have their fill of venison, they aren't likely to come back tonight looking for some hobbit to fill up the corners!"

"Hopefully they've confused our trail enough so that no orcs can track us," Boromir agreed wholeheartedly. "A poor ending for the beast, but a happy chance for us. Now we must further cover our tracks and find a more secure place to rest for the night."

They entered the trees at the point where the stag and pack had come bursting out. Boromir carried Gimli on his back, the dwarf's arms drawn around the man's neck and held firmly, with his feet dangling from the ground. It looked most uncomfortable, thought Pippin, but he put the thought from his mind, just glad that Gimli was at least unaware of the indignity.

Not wanting to stray too far from the watercourse they were following they halted in a deep dell where overhanging roots gave them some shelter.

Boromir thought long and hard about pressing on further into the deep of the dark wood but when Peregrin had stumbled yet again in the growing twilight, this last time taking more than just a few seconds to catch his breath before struggling up, the man decided they would halt for the night. In truth Pippin could not have gone on much farther. The past days of pain, weariness, worry, and fear were finally taking their toll.

Gimli woke when they stopped, and Peregrin rummaged through the packs for some bits of food and refilled the water skins. "We had quite a fright while you were asleep Gimli," the hobbit remarked in a conversational tone. "A pack of wolves no less!"

Gimli spluttered on the water he had been swigging, "For Aulë's Sake! And ye did nae even wake me!"

Pippin was so taken aback it turned the hobbit's head from the task of setting out food. "Don't worry, I'll tell you all about it over dinner – such as it is." Ever delighting in telling a story, Peregrin related the whole episode to Gimli while they ate their meagre supper. The tale was beginning to take on an air of a grand chronicle.

Boromir shook his head in wonder. "Hobbits have an amazing knack for story telling, Master Peregrin," Boromir smiled at the suspense and casual humour the little one wove into the yarn. "Even though I was there I would never be able to recite the details. But you are right, it was bizarre to see such a diminutive creature brandishing two swords while facing down more than a half dozen wolves each as tall as a hobbit." Boromir chuckled. This tale would grow with every retelling, no doubt about it. And it would still be true, the words just more cleverly woven with each telling. No wonder it was so easy to fall under the hobbit's spell.

Meagre dinner and extravagant story time over, Boromir insisted upon checking Pippin's arms and legs. The hobbit had hoped that no one would notice, but scabs were beginning to form and he was hurting and sore.

Boromir suspected most of Peregrin's complaints throughout their journey about not having enough food were legitimate. The hobbit had lost weight. On one so small, half a stone was a significant part of his weight and Pippin had been thin for a hobbit at the start of their journey. His legs were a mess of scrapes, scabs, bruises and blood. One cut in particular looked nasty. It was bleeding slightly where Peregrin had tried unsuccessfully to clean it himself.

"Come here lad, let me check that gash on your knee. Did you do that the last time you stumbled or was it from that wolf's teeth as he grazed by you? I don't think that brute has a taste for hobbit else he would have remained and finished the meal, even if his companions had run off after the stag and left him." Boromir motioned for Peregrin to join him on the ground next to him and Gimli.

"Boromir, the only time I stumbled would be to trip over your great feet and wolves do indeed find hobbit delicious," Pippin put his hands on his hips feigning indignation, "the beast was scared off by my ferocity!

Gimli automatically reached for the waterskin and handed it to Boromir with no more comment than a wry smile.

After a brief inspection everything was deemed to be only superficial. Boromir set to cleaning the worst of it. He noted out loud mostly for the benefit of the lad, that it looked as if he had slid down a rock wall on his knees and elbows and then swum through a mud puddle. The knee seemed to be the worst. The wound wasn't deep but it was raw and it probably hurt something fierce by the look on the hobbit's screwed up face.

Pippin winced with pain as Boromir dabbed first at his knees, which started bleeding freely again despite the man's gentleness, and to his embarrassment couldn't quite keep from crying though the man and dwarf kindly pretended they didn't notice. He was just so tired and it did hurt so very much.

Boromir moved to Pippin's arms and elbows and those hurt even worse, as he had used them to pull himself along in the tiny opening. As he stifled a sob, Pippin suddenly felt himself enveloped by a wave of love and protectiveness that was not coming from his companions and he gasped in recognition of the feeling. It was as though Merry was there, helping and supporting him through some childhood mishap and he was shocked by the sensation, some of the pain draining away as he felt Merry's love and concern. His eyes were drawn upward and it seemed as though, for just a moment, he could see Merry's dear face above him, the stars in the night sky crowning his cousin's head.

"Hullo Merry," said Pippin happily and then he felt his eyes closing as his body finally gave in to exhaustion and tipping forward into Boromir's lap, he fainted and knew no more.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

In spite of the dulling drugs, as Merry woke to Legolas' touch, he was distraught, but not for himself. It was an old familiar feeling, a jolt in the pit of his stomach that made it flip over with sudden anguish – it meant one thing – Pippin was hurt and needed him.

But that had been in his dream. Merry had been flailing about hurt and restless, unable to sleep, but then Pippin had come to him and soothed him to sleep. Then as the night wore on Merry had heard Pippin crying.

_'Pip! Pip! Where are you? Don't cry my dear, there, there! All better soon.'_ Merry automatically launched into the litany he would have used when his baby fell and bumped his knees or scratched himself on a bramble. Merry had no siblings of his own but always plenty of cousins around him, older, younger, more or less his age, so there was no shortage of playmates. But Pip had been different.

Merry was there at the Great Smials the day Pippin was born. His mother had not gone into detail, but he knew somehow this baby was extra important. He already had three cousins that belonged to his Uncle Paladin and Aunt Eglantine, all lasses and so he had rather hoped this one would be a lad – like him. Then the baby was born and Merry thought everyone would be really pleased because it was a lad. But still there was much shaking of heads and worried looks about the Great Smials. Merry had asked his mother what was wrong, were they not happy that they had a new lad? "Well yes, Meriadoc," she had explained gently. "But he is very small and weak, we are not sure if… if…"

"If what Mamma? If he'll be big enough to be Thain one day?"

"Yes. But I'm sure he'll grow."

"Can I see him, Mamma? As he's new today. I never saw a brand new baby."

"Very well, just for a moment, if you're very good."

So Merry was taken into the nursery. His Uncle Paladin was there as if he were standing guard over his new son, gazing down at him, willing him to grow and thrive, or so it seemed to 8-year-old Merry.

Merry peered down into the cradle and was entranced. The tiny baby had the pointiest ears he had ever seen and a tiny snub of a nose and little rosebud lips. But what impressed him the most was, when Merry surreptitiously put his finger into the minuscule hand, it grabbed on and held tight as if it would never let go.

"Oh Merry! You mustn't touch the baby." His mother cried in disapproval.

"He's holding me Mamma, really tight. I dursn't pull away." Merry looked anxiously up at his Uncle expecting a telling off, but Paladin merely smiled.

"He's a tenacious little thing, for all that he's so small." Uncle Paladin said with a look of pride.

Merry had wondered at the time what the word 'tenacious' meant, but as Pippin grew and thrived, he found out. He had stuck to Merry like glue from as soon as he could walk, he had to be wherever his older cousin was. This meant for Merry that he had become, not so much a big brother, but more like a third parent. When Pip had exciting news, Merry was the first he told and when he had something to special to eat or a new toy, it was always put to one side until he could share it with Merry and when he was hurt, Merry was the first hobbit he turned to.

He was hurt now, Merry knew, he felt it even through his own appalling pain, Pippin's anguish called to him and Merry followed the thread of distress. He found the path Pip had taken at the beginning of his own sleep to sooth and comfort him and traced it back along the shining silvery thread, up and up, through the ceiling, through the roof up to the stars and across the darkened skies until he found him.

Carefully, Merry enfolded Pippin in his love and protection, happy to see that Boromir was taking care of him. Gently he kissed his hurts and dried his tears and felt him slump into the release of sleep.

Merry was about to place a careful kiss upon Pip's forehead when he was suddenly pulled back along the silver thread that shimmered like a moonbeam on water. He was back in an instant, faster than a whiplash cracking through the silent air and then Legolas' hand was on his brow and he was opening his eyes to his own pain and confusion.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Aragorn ran swiftly back along the path to the stream. He crossed it, then paused to wash Frodo's filthy garments and pack. Draping them over a bush to drip, he turned downstream and walked against the slight breeze, opening his senses.

"Even a bird would be worth an arrow," he said softly to himself, pulling one from his quiver and setting it to string. He sniffed the air, listening. He heard birds, certainly, little piping birds up in the trees, but these were too small for food. He was hoping for a larger bird, or a rabbit, or even a deer. He had not walked far when his entreaties were answered.

The boar betrayed itself first by its snuffling along the stream bank, and then by its pungent scent. The Ranger could tell by the sound that it was fairly small, and therefore likely young and tender. Carefully he crept closer, taking his time; he would take no chances at losing this prize. If the hobbits did not have nourishment soon, he would be carrying them both to the Golden Wood, and although it was not far, he had not the strength to bear two unconscious halflings and their packs, not in his current state of exhaustion.

"_Ah, there you are_," he said silently, spying the boar rooting in the damp soil. Not as young as he had thought, yet not full grown. Enough meat to fill three bellies, certainly. Aragorn drew his bow.

With a satisfying "_thwunk_," the arrow met its mark, and with a surprised snort the boar started, splashing forward into the stream and stumbling nose first into the water. It struggled to regain its footing, but the Ranger's arrow had pierced its heart, and within a minute the boar was lying lifeless in the midst of the stream.

Aragorn bled, gutted and skinned the boar, a young male, on the bank, dipping the carcass into the water and washing it thoroughly inside and out. He bound the legs together with a leather thong, hoisted it over his shoulder, and retraced his steps to collect Frodo's things. They had not been disturbed, which he took as a sign that Gollum was not lurking about waiting for another opportunity. A good sign.

"Finally some luck is **_with_** us," he said with a sigh, gathering the clothing and pack with his free arm and adjusting the boar's weight on his other shoulder. He hurried back to camp, eager both for the taste of meat and for the sight of his small companions.

Fresh, roasted meat never tasted so good. Despite their exhaustion, Frodo and Sam rallied enough to help prepare and then devour the boar. The leftover meat they sliced thin to smoke.

Hobbits with full bellies are sleepy hobbits, but Aragorn insisted on checking both of their injuries again. He rebound Frodo's ribs, and reassured himself that Sam's head wound was not festering into infection.

"We have to set a watch," Frodo said wearily when Aragorn had declared them both passable. "Gollum may still be about, although you do not see signs of him. I do not want to wake to find those fingers about my throat." He shuddered and unconsciously grasped at the Ring.

"I'll take first watch, sir," Sam said stoutly, but Aragorn shook his head.

"I can last a while longer," he said. "I will take the first watch. But I will need sleep at some point."

"Wake me for second watch," Frodo said, and then cast Sam an ordering look. Sam obediently silenced his protest, but his face was unhappy. "Sam can take the last watch."

With that, the Ring-bearer bundled himself in as many dry covers as he could find and promptly fell asleep.

Sam shuffled his feet and pottered around until Aragorn said, "Don't you think you should keep him warm, Sam?" Then, the reluctant hobbit finally lay down and curled up beside his master. He was asleep within seconds.

Aragorn lit his pipe and tried to clear his mind of all thoughts. Moria had been a worse disaster than even he had feared, and he could not think how the Quest would continue. For now, he would set his sights on getting the Ring-bearer and his servant safety to Lothlórien. He need not look further than that.

Aragorn's watch passed to Frodo, and Frodo's to Sam with no sign of Gollum or other foes. Frodo thought he heard birds passing overhead at one point, but he could see nothing when he peered into the dark sky.

When Sam's watch began, he first reassured himself that all the wet clothing was nearly dry enough to wear. Then he wrapped himself in a cloak and huddled by the fire. Eventually, the sky began to lighten. Dawn was coming.

He wondered about this Lothlórien, and if it would be anything like Rivendell. He hoped so. They needed healing and rest and decent food. Not to mention real baths. And perhaps the Elves had been able to do something for poor Mr Merry; that is, if he and Legolas had arrived there safely.

Sam brushed away the few tears that forced their way out at the thought of Merry's injury. When he had conquered his grief and looked back up, there were two figures standing nearby, staring at him.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

All of a sudden it had became eerily silent. Boromir could hear no sound yet he felt he should be able to. The hairs on the back of his neck rose of their own accord. Though it lasted but a few heartbeats, the man was shaking from the experience. "Hullo Merry," Peregrin whispered, then fainted dead away into his lap_. Merry? What had occurred?_ Catching his lower lip between his teeth, Boromir took up the weight of the unconscious hobbit into a firm embrace. Hugging the lad to him he looked to the dwarf for any clarification, but only saw his own bewilderment mirrored. Peregrin slept peacefully in Boromir's arms, all tension gone from his once drawn face.

Gimli, unnerved, watched in dismay, as Pippin lay senseless in Boromir's arms. The man looked sharply at him, obviously rattled. As well he might be.

Gimli sniffed loudly and rubbed his nose. Well, whatever had happened, it had passed and they had tasks to finish before sleeping themselves. "Give him to me," he instructed Boromir. "Lie him down next to me, on my cloak." Boromir gently eased the soundly sleeping hobbit down. "You can finish tending his wounds here, and then let him sleep the night away."

Between the two of them, they finished washing and patching Pippin's scraped and torn arms and elbows, then wrapped him snuggly in his cloak. For a few moments, the two unlikely friends watched the little one sleep, taking their own ease after a difficult day. Boromir's eyes began to droop and when he yawned for the third time, Gimli chuckled, and said, "I shall take the first watch. Sleep. If any creature, foul or fair, nears us, I shall wake you."

Boromir yawned again and scrubbed at his face, sighing heavily. He lay down next to Pippin, drawing his own cloak over the two of them. Pippin immediately curled into him, perhaps, Gimli thought, mistaking the man's warmth for that of his cousins'. Boromir looked a bit embarrassed and didn't meet Gimli's eyes, but did not push the little hobbit away. He closed eyes and within moments was snoring.

Loud enough to draw the wolves back, Gimli thought, but the cheerful noise of the nearby river would undoubtedly drown out Boromir's snores. Or so he hoped.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Merry clung as tightly to Legolas as his little hands could manage in his weakened state. He heard the elf arguing with the woman, showing her first his hobbit feet and then brushing his tangled hair aside to ask if she thought his pointed ears to be human. Merry wanted to tell Legolas that he had already tried this strategy, but the pain in his chest grew angry once more as he was jostled about and all the hobbit could manage was to whimper with distress. He was aware of Legolas scuffling with the kindly woman but not what had actually happened between them. He felt the elf place a light kiss upon his brow and he tried to smile up at Legolas, but his friend's attention was elsewhere.

Then Merry was dimly aware of raised voices, the man was getting angry with… not Legolas, it sounded like an elf, but not his friend – a new voice, one Merry did not know. But he could tell there was a fight going on. The kindly humans were trying to defend him from these elven intruders, but the other elf sounded very cross with them.

Merry could barely think straight, so terrible was the pain again. The drugs in his system had made him sleepy and his whole system had started to shut down. Now adrenaline was beginning to course through his veins, battling with the narcotic Legolas and Aragorn had medicated him with and the opiates that he had been fed by the elderly woman. He was already dangerously weak from blood loss and, had he been kept still, might have been starting to recover, but his poor abused little body had been subjected to numerous shocks and jolts since the injury had occurred.

Now Merry began to breathe frantically, gasping for breath as the frustration of being unable to explain that he was not a child, put further strain on the usually calm hobbit. Merry did not want these people hurt, nor did he want to stay with them! He tried to speak, but all he could manage was a sad whimper.

Then the most dreadful pain Merry had ever felt in his young life shot through his body, causing him to cry out in frantic fear. He gasped and then slumped to become a dead weight in Legolas's arms, his breathing ceased, his heart still.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Pippin stirred in his sleep, his face drawing into a frown, and he murmured unhappily. Then he jerked sharply, clutching at Boromir's arm, and cried, "No!"

Pippin had been exhausted and in bitter pain when Boromir was tending his wounds when suddenly the pain was no longer important and he had been aware of only one thing; his Merry was there! Suddenly, somehow he had been there, looking out for Pippin as he always did, though Pippin didn't quite understand how. Perhaps it had been the same way that Pippin had found Merry in distress during his own dream the night before, when he had comforted Merry and helped him to find rest and relief from his pain for a time? Perhaps this time it had been Merry that was dreaming, and thinking of Pippin and somehow being drawn to his small cousin when he was needed.

He was so lucky, to have Merry, to have this beloved friend and cousin with whom he was so close that even from a distance they could sense when one needed the other. Already exhausted beyond enduring, his sudden relief at Merry's presence was the last thing Pippin knew; he could rest now and his body and mind let themselves go. He dimly sensed being wrapped warmly and snuggled up next to Boromir to sleep, resting so that on the morrow the three of them could continue on to rejoin Merry and the others. Soon now the Fellowship – except for poor Gandalf – would be reunited! Once again it would be "Merry and Pippin" as it should be!

And then there was suddenly pain and terror. Pippin couldn't breathe, couldn't move, he could do nothing to stop the terrible agony. He felt his body seize up, felt his heart stop, felt himself being pulled away into blackness and unable to resist, yet even while all of this was occurring he was aware that it was not actually happening to him – it was happening to his Merry, and the worst of it was that it was not a dream! It was really happening, Merry was dying! Pippin clutched at Boromir, and screamed, "No!" He struggled futilely in the man's startled grasp and then went suddenly limp. It was over, just like that. He was gone. Merry was gone, dead, and there was nothing Pippin could do. He had felt him die, and wished only at that moment that he had died with him. Or rather died with him completely, for certainly a part of him had been lost forever when he lost Merry. Pippin keened and cried out for Merry to come back, to please not be dead, burying his face against Boromir's chest in an effort to stifle his sounds of grief.

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TO BE CONTINUED

**Character Notes:**

**_Greetings Readers! T'is Noble Boromir in the chair this time to regale you with witticisms and smart comments to counter your splendid and much needed reviews. I hope and endeavour to give satisfaction but if all is not to your utter delight and contentment, please to send your complaints to Mlle Rachel Stonebreaker who will happily deal with any problems of courtesy or protocol._**

**_Nayana Baggins_** What the h e double hockey stick is wrong with Frodo the blue eyed wonder? Could some one clue me in?  
**_Merry_**: He's just tired and emotional and has had a trying day – that or he's playing to the crowd as per.

**_domstygerr_** Legolas, I hope you and Haldir get Merry out of that looney bin! Aragorn, you are such a strong man to have to keep up all the strength under such conditions, cheers love! Gimli, you are such a dear, I hope you get to feeling better soon, I worry about you, even though you wished I didn't. Llinos, once again, excellent job! You are doing the most wonderful job with this story.  
**_Llinos_**: Why thank you – I just wish the characters would co-operate more and get their act together.  
**_Merry_**: And who gave you leave to write notes here? Especially if you're going to criticize!  
**_Llinos_**: Sorry (slopes away with tail between legs)

**_FantasyFan_**: Lovely chapter, as always. Details I liked: Gimli murmuring the secret name of Durin; Aragorn speaking so gently to Frodo to calm him; Pippin's treasures in his pack, especially the letter to his family; Haldir's restraint snip  
**_Legolas_**: And what about my hair? Did you not admire my beautiful flowing locks that stay in place no matter how much I shake my head and…  
**_Merry_**: You're supposed to be rescuing me – not preening yourself for pity's sake!

**_Estella_**: Just one thing--please don't let anything happen to Merry and Pippin! We need laughs during war-time!  
**_Merry and Pippin_**: We're glad you find our angst and pain amusing! Hmp!

**_klnolan_** - KEEP IT UP  
**_Boromir_ -** Always something a hero attempts to do, I assure you ;-).

**_Hyperactive Forever:_** - ok, lessee...Boromir, Gimli, and Pip get free (finally!) so snaps for them!! And Aragorn is taking ANOTHER bath! It must be some sort of WORLD RECORD or something! and Merry is rescued YAY! keep it up, guys!  
**_Boromir_** - There are those "snaps" again. I suspect, after peeking over my author's shoulder whilst watching something on a broadcast television on BRAVO that "snaps" may not all together be a very manly compliment. However, Gimli, Peregrin and I shall take compliments wherever we shall get them. Aragorn taking a bath, now, I will agree, "snaps" to that (most heartedly).

**_storyfish_** - Everything seems to be taking a more positive turn in this chapter, except for Sam. Poor Sam! He's got so much guilt that it's painful for ME to read. Sam, snap outta it, it's not your fault! ;-)  
**_Boromir_ -** Is it ever easy being the Manly Man or Dwarf or the almost manly Hobbit? No. I say, a most firm, "no it is not" but thank you for caring. As for Samwise feeling guilty, I believe this unfortunate trait has been instilled in him by his upbringing. A clear case of Youngest Son, if I do say so. I look to my own brother as a clear cut similar example. Sad, but true. If it is any consolation, they always seem to get the girl in the end whereas we older brothers get, well… I won't say, it would spoil the ending.

**_my-fool-of-a-took_** - As dire as the situation is, the mental imagery of some woman beating Legolas over the head with a broom still makes me giggle. Take good care of the hobbits, Aragorn, Boromir and Legolas!  
**_Boromir_** - Fear not dear Foolish Took. We, the Brave, the Strong, the Taller than 4 Feet, strive mightily to take care of your favourite charges. It's a battle sometimes but we still try. After all, we find them as cute, I mean, as noteworthy as thou dost find them (and I, also, found it most amusing to think on Legolas being bandied about the head and shoulders with a mere kitchen broom rather amusing. Serves the Elf right, with his hair tossing and all).

**_pipinheart_** - Finally they are out of the mines of Moria... Frodo and Sam, and Aragorn are resting for the night. Merry has been rescued from the man and woman, but not without a fight... Real good, update soon...  
**Boromir** - Everyone deserves a rest now and then. Now, if you could just convince our authors to let us have more than 5 minutes respite….

**_auntiemeesh_**- Pippin, Gimli and Boromir are out of the mines, yay! I'm sure there are all sorts of terrible things between them and Lorien, but at least they are away from the mines.  
I loved the scene with Legolas and Haldir trying to rescue Merry. Between Legolas carrying Merry off and Haldir being all menacing, I don't blame these people for thinking the elves are up to no good, although if they are going to live on the borders of Lorien, they should make an effort to learn more about their neighbours.  
Can't wait for the next chapter, and I have to say, I'm disappointed you didn't post a 'behind the scenes' episode this time round. I promise to leave reviews if you'll post more of that. Please?  
**_Boromir_ -** Oh My! Our authors sincerely enjoy all the praises and reviews they can get. I will encourage them to post more on the Behind The Scenes action. But in all fairness, thou must understand that the action taking place in the Main Story sometimes has everyone a bit worn to the bone. The township of Las Vegas is a bit overwhelming, especially this year as it IS the centennial celebration on Friday and all. That and Meriadoc, in all his Magnificence, can be a bit demanding as well… ah hem…  
**_Merry_**: Look not to me for the lack of Behind the Scenes action! Mlle Llinos declined to include it as she believed no one was reading! Pah! I fail to see how this can be true, but she claims to have things called **_statistics_** based on **_reviews and hit counts_**!

**_Pip4_** - Yay!! They got out, that's good. I loved the description of Pippin when he found the door, and the fact that Gimli was about to tell him to do something and he couldn't argue was priceless. I thought the way Aragorn was described taking the ring out of Frodo's hand for a brief moment was very suspenseful, very good.  
**_Boromir_** - Candle to light the way ₤1, extra rations to feed hungry Hobbit ₤15, speechless Dwarf Priceless. And yes, I too, was on tenterhooks when I read the part about Aragorn and The Ring. I, myself, would not have been so … well… I would not have let poor Frodo suffer through being undressed in such a slow fashion. Take The Ring, put It in a Safe Place, Bathe Hobbit, and Go On. That's my story. And I'm sticking to it.

**_Aranna Undomiel_** - So, erm, apparently there were 11 chapters, instead of the 10 I read;) So well, another review was necessary. Hurrah, Merry is free from those weird talking people, geesh were they hard to follow... Well if that's not a happy chapter I don't know what is. LOL. Again Merry Christmas and please update soon.  
**_Boromir_** - And a Very Glorious New Year to You! I don't know why it was difficult for Thee, I could follow the Tugman's speech in most. Here is a synopsis. They wanted to keep Meriadoc. Legolas and the Other Elves wished to take Meriadoc. Quite simple when one reads the Cliff Notes. All, in all, it WAS a happy chapter. Did we not deserve it so close to the end of the Year? YES, we did.

**_Lily_**_ -_ Great chapter! Way to go Gimli! Haldir, you may need to borrow some patience, you seem to be short on it. Nice idea, Legolas, being kind and all that, but it seems to be creating more problems. Good luck to Frodo!  
**_Boromir_** - Yes, Gimli showed some Manly actions, didn't he? Quite the Lad, a bit rough around the edges, but as I remembered someone saying, diamonds are rough before they're polished. Gimli, if I might say so, just needs a bit of polishing. I think Legolas had some ideas in that area before we got separated. So, in the interest of polishing a rough bit of stone, I will seek to reunite those two. If for no other reason than to enjoy a bit more Dwarf baiting.

**_lindahoyland_** - Another great chapter, I especially enjoyed Boromir's thoughts on Hobbit luggage and how gently Aragorn looks after Frodo.  
**_Boromir_ - **Oh, once again, I am flattered that someone out there appreciates that Men are more than just brutes. Yes, we can actually think. Aragorn, in case Thou has not noticed, is not exactly 100 Man, but has a bit of the Dunedain which happens to be a bit more presence than the Stewards, though to talk to my father on the subject would be foolish (you see, Faramir HAS got to me…) Now, **_I_** would have looked after Frodo as well as The Once and Future King did, if **_I_** had been given the chance…. I promise I would, … The Precious…

**_Aranna Undomiel_** - This is a great story, really wonderful to read. I actually read all 10 chapters at once, and I must say that's not such an easy job to do. LOL. But it's really good, I'm glad I found it. I especially love the Legolas-Merry line, cause, eh, well, you're a Legolas fan or not. Please update soon and a Merry Christmas to you.  
**_Boromir_ - **And a Happy Belated Yule to you as well. I admire anyone who can actually sit and read through every chapter so far. I know that **_I_** cry in many places… I mean that I sigh in many places. Meriadoc and yes The Elf can rather attach themselves to one's psyche when one is not looking.

**_Lindalëriel_** - I love how Legolas was trying to reason with the Tugmans, even while Haldir was growing impatient. That's a new one for me, I didn't know elves could get impatient! And poor Merry, get him well, soon, ok? Please? Hugs to everyone! And could you give an especially big hug to Merry? And Pippin? I think they could use them…  
**_Boromir_** - Speaking from a first hand experience, I will certainly give your hug to Peregrin, on a purely professional level, of course. We must wait awhile before I have access to Meriadoc to perform the same. Knowing SOME of these authors, Healing Meriadoc may take some time… and I completely understand The Elf Haldir's impatience. It is fully justified when dealing with Legolas. Sometimes that Prince can take atoning for his father's anger against All Things Not Elven a bit too far, if thou dost ask me.

**_smalldiver_** - Yay! An update! What a brilliant Christmas (eve) present! I'm glad the Elves are managing all right with the humans, and Aragorn has sorted Frodo and Sam out all right. I am liking Boromir and Gimli more and more as this story goes on - they are now by far my favourite members of the fellowship. And Pippin is my favourite hobbit - I couldn't help but giggle a bit at the image of Pippin falling flat on his face, but at least the three members are out now!  
**_Boromir_ - **It is **_about_** time we were out. And you can thank your favourite Hobbit, Peregrin. Sometimes that lad has the most ingenious of ideas, I must admit. Though, as far as The Elves go, I'm not so sure they are all playing from the same deck of cards so to speak. Though, knowing our favourite Fellowship Elf, Legolas will have them working as a team before long. We are very pleased you enjoyed the Christmas Eve posting and wish You and Yours a very pleasant New Year.

**_maripo5a_** - Pippin, another fine job. **_looks around to make sure Merry isn't looking, then hugs Pippin_**.  
P.S. I do want more Behind the Scenes, would it help if I went back and gave feedback for every chapter? 'Cause I will!  
**_Boromir_ -** Excuse **_me_**! You are not allowed to hug any Hobbit without the express written permission of The Pervy Hobbit Fanciers Club. Oh, wait, I see you are a charter member. Accept my apologies and hug away. And as I mentioned before, our authors appreciate reviews on **_all_** of their **_other_** stories. But speaking from a bystander's view I can only guess that the work that our editor Llinos and our beta Marigold put in the Behind The Scenes project equals this project so please bear with them. I am but a minion in the whole scheme though I will send on your wishes post haste.  
**_Merry_**: The Behind the Scenes are virtually all done – it's just Llinos being petulant because hardly anyone reads or reviews them. **_Authors! Really!_**

**_Mae Ari:_** I feel bad for the Tugmans but I'm also a little curious about them. I wonder if we'll see more of them in future chapters.  
**_Legolas_**: Well I've pretty much had it with them! I wish they'd just give me my Hobbit and I'll be on my way!  
**_Mae Ari_**:I wonder what sort of trouble will linger for Boromir, Gimli, and Pippin. Their talks of death and all are making me uneasy. I hope Frodo and Sam will have a safer journey now that they're FINALLY getting some care for their wounds (honestly, those two are more stubborn than mules).  
**_Boromir_ - **It is not just Samwise and Frodo who are as stubborn as mules. It has come to my immediate attention that ALL Hobbits are stubborn. I do not know if it is their natural tendency or if it is because they are in the company of Men but believe ME, it can be trying. And do not fret, Men and Dwarves talk a great deal about death, mostly for naught. Trust in the effervescent nature of Hobbits. They are a good weather vane for any New Year.


	13. Grief and Relief

The East Gate

Authors The Eastgaters

Cast list  
Frodo – Baylor  
Samwise – Budgielover  
Pippin – Marigold  
Merry – Llinos  
Legolas – Mainframe  
Aragorn – Nilramiel  
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker  
Gimli – Q

The Wicked Elves – Mainframe

Mister and Missus Tugman – Llinos

Story Editor Llinos  
Beta Marigold

Chapter 13 – Grief and Relief

Haldir felt no small amount of satisfaction as fear forced the man to take several reluctant steps further into the cabin and thus away from the arrows that remained trained on him. Haldir's smile became more ironic as he saw the flicker in Rúmil's eye and knew that he was in for at least several decades worth of repartee once this was over, after all he had originally sent them away from the human dwelling to protect them, paradoxical, he thought that the tables were turned. No, Rúmil would ensure he didn't live this one down.

As inconspicuously as he was able, Haldir focused on Orophin, paying particular attention to the thinly pressed lips and the tightening around his eyes and the thorough rigidity of his pose. Though Orophin had brazenly declared more times than Haldir cared to count over the years, that because he did not remember the events there was no need for Haldir to hover over him so protectively, it would seem that the Marchwarden had good cause for concern. This had been dragged out overlong and now Orophin had been exposed to the very race that had made him suffer so cruelly. Haldir felt a sinking feeling as he watched all his hard work unravel by the minute as tremors, visible only to elven eyes, unsteadied Orophin's bow.

Rúmil shot Haldir a worried glance as his brother unconsciously stepped closer to him until their elbows brushed, soaking up the comfort that small contact gave.

"Legolas come, we…" Haldir never finished as the hobbit suddenly convulsed in the wood elf's arms and almost jumped out of his grasp and then lay limp as a slain deer.

"MERRY!" Legolas shrieked in fright, voice gone shrill with panic.

All activity stopped within the cabin, all mistrust swept away as humans and elves focused on the distraught elf and the rapidly paling hobbit.

Legolas quickly dropped to his knees and laid Merry down as his shaking fingers fumbled to unwrap the neatly folded blanket. By this time the human woman had sunk, with some difficulty, opposite Legolas and took one of Merry's small hands into hers, clearly frustrated when she garnered no response after a few squeezes.

Meanwhile Haldir, his brothers and the woman's husband hovered close and watched as Legolas pressed his golden head to Merry's chest, obscuring their view of both their faces, and waited. A small involuntary whimper escaped the elf's lips, distress crumpling his handsome features. He pressed the pads of his first two fingers lightly to Merry's throat, pausing. Everyone held their breath as they waited and hoped, but Legolas released a keening wail that made everyone flinch as the desperately sought pulse remained absent and Merry's lips quickly began to turn blue.

"Haldir his heart does not beat, it does not beat!" Legolas' broken tones pained the Lórien elf, who was only now realising the strength of the bond that had been forged between these two beings.

Fervently Legolas stroked his fingers through Merry's hair and stared deeply into unseeing, clouded, blue-grey eyes that were now emptied of that spark that was purely Merry. "Merry, _mellon-nin_ do not leave us, it is not your time, please hear me!" He sobbed, "Pippin! Think of your beloved cousin, he needs you… I need you, come back!"

Silent tears rolled down Mrs Tugman's plump cheeks as she watched the heartbreaking scene before her, one moment the child was alive and actually cuddling into the elf's embrace, the next his body jerked uncontrollably and then all life left him and now she found herself kneeling on the rough wooden floor watching the elf frantically try to rouse the lad. What he said she had not a clue as he'd slipped back into his own tongue but his action spoke clearly and she clutched at the rapidly chilling hand and was forced to look away as the distraught elf pulled Merry into his lap and began to rock backwards and forwards crushing the child to him, an unconscious mantra beseeching _'Elbereth'_, flowing like water from his lips.

"Legolas" Rúmil ventured, but the elf was locked in his private grief, grief that he had failed the Fellowship, grief that he had broken Estel's trust, and grief that he had been unable to keep his promise to Merry.

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Sam cried out and jumped to his feet, but one of the mysterious figures raised a hand in peace and greeting.

"Do not be frightened!" he said. "I am Vanaloth, and this is Gayadur. We have hunted **_yrch_** throughout the night, as we searched for you, by order of the Lady Galadriel. We are here to take you to Caras Galadhon – the City of Trees. Do not be frightened! Safe haven is at hand."

Sam didn't know whether to call out to his companions or bow first and tried to do both; the result being an ungraceful bob and a choked cry that sounded like he had dropped one of his own frying pans on his toes. Recovering, he backed up several steps and stared at them blankly. Elves, yes. No question of that. They were tall and slender, with elegant, fine-boned features and long hair like golden silk that flowed over their shoulders. Sam was mortified to realize he was staring. He hastily bowed again, this time with more decorum.

"G' mornin', sirs," he whispered, though that was somewhat premature. The Sun hovered still below the horizon, but the growing light was sufficient to illuminate the Fair Folk's kind faces as they looked at him and past him to the two motionless bundles that slept on in the abandonment of complete exhaustion. Sam saw Vanaloth's eyes travel to his injury and take in his bedraggled appearance, and the poor hobbit was reminded that he needed a real bath, not a quick dip in a freezing stream. He flushed and looked at the ground. When he looked up again, he saw nothing but pity and concern in the Elf's eyes.

Gayadur had been inspecting the two blanket-wrapped lumps that were Frodo and Aragorn. Light-footed he stepped past Sam over to the smaller and knelt. Sam tensed and his hand went to his sword, in spite of that fact that these folk meant no harm. "This is the Ring-bearer?" the Elf asked, his voice no louder than a whisper on the wind.

"Aye," Sam replied through a dry throat. He felt a sudden, irrational fear that they would be turned away. _'Don't be a ninny,__ Sam,' he told himself sternly. 'They just said they spent the night__ searching for us; they're not going 'ta pack us off without help._' He took his fears firmly in hand and quashed them. Vanaloth was watching him with amusement, he realized. Well, he might not have Mr Merry's quick tongue or his master's gentle upbringing, but he wasn't about to shame the Shire.

"Sirs," he continued in a slightly louder voice, pulling himself straight to his full height. "I'm Samwise Gamgee. This is my master, Mr Frodo Baggins, the … the…" Sam faltered, hating to say the words that chained Frodo to the evil he bore. "The Ring-bearer. This Man is Aragorn, who pledged us his help in Rivendell at Lord Elrond's Council. We are all … all that is left of our Company."

Gayadur nodded, compassion in his clear eyes at the unsaid things in Sam's declaration. He glanced at the other Elf and some unspoken communication passed between them. "We must go," he murmured. "My kin and I have hunted **_yrch_** and killed many since darkness set, but more may be out there. Wake them, Master Gamgee. My Lord and Lady await us."

Aragorn had already awoken at the first sound of murmuring voices and had lain still with his eyes closed as Sam gave the greetings and explanations. He had measured that the story would at this stage sit better with the ingenuous, wide-eyed hobbit than from his own worldly lips. He could tell there was no danger from these Lórien elves; his greatest fear had been the possibility of being turned away because of the danger that followed them. Not of the orcs, but purely of the Ring. The elves, Aragorn knew, would sense Its evil and be disturbed by it.

Sam moved over to Frodo's side, across from where Gayadur now waited, and lightly placed a hand on his master's shoulder. "Mr Frodo," he called softly, giving the shoulder the most gentle of shakes, "time 'ta get up, sir."

Frodo blinked sleep out of his eyes and sighed wearily. "All right, Sam," he said, but did not sit up. Then he caught a slight motion out of the corner of one slitted eye, and he was suddenly fully awake, alert and on his feet, eyes wide open. At his movement, Aragorn stirred and rose to his feet, fully awake as he had been for some time.

"Greetings my friends," Aragorn bowed low, "_Guren linna le cened!" _He turned and indicated his head towards the hobbits, "_The Periain, boe hain nesto!" _

"Fear not Estel of the Dunedain," The elf replied with a smile in Westron, "They will be healed, they are under our protection now."

The two elves stood before Frodo, studying him with concerned, critical eyes that took in every scrape and bruise. One of them held up a hand in peace.

"Well met, Frodo of the Shire!" the elf furthest from him said. "I am Vanaloth, and this is my companion, Gayadur. We bring greetings from the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn, and are commanded to take you before them. We must move swiftly – the patrols of Lothlórien have hunted the accursed _**yrch**_ all night, but yet more come from the mountains. In the Golden Wood, you will find protection and rest, even if for but a little while.

"Master Gamgee tells us that you are all that remains of your company. We are grieved to learn this, as we came looking for nine. Tell me, can you walk? We would be honoured to carry the Little People, should it be necessary. In any event, you will not carry your baggage farther. Estel tells us you need healing, are any of you grievously injured?"

Frodo's relief was so great at the kind and welcoming words that he truly thought for a moment that he might burst into tears. He took a deep breath and mastered himself.

"Thank you for your kind greeting," he said, and bowed. "You cannot imagine how happy we are to meet you. We are all injured, but none of us so grievously that we cannot walk. I do not think you will find any argument if you are so kind as to carry our baggage, though." Frodo touched a gentle hand to Sam's arm, both in command and assurance.

Now tears did prick at his eyes as he continued. "Are we all of our party that you have met?" he asked. "We sent two of our companions ahead of us, an elf and another hobbit, one of my kin. The rest of our companions – we left them beneath the mountain. My cousin was sorely injured and we feared for his life. Tell me, have they not arrived in your land? Have you heard nothing of them?"

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There was noise and confusion – then suddenly, with a mighty jolt, it all stopped! Everything was black! Too black! Merry was scared and flailed around, reaching out to his bedside table, seeking for a candle and vesta to make a light, but nothing fell into his hands. Where was he? And why was it so dark?

Suddenly, through the impenetrable void he heard a voice calling to him. It was warm and welcoming and he desperately wanted to go to it, if he could only find the way. He realised his eyes were closed so he opened them and saw in the distance a small point of light, like the first star of evening set in an ink-blue sky or a diamond laid on a blue velvet cloth.

Merry struggled towards the brilliance and it grew larger and larger. He saw Grandmamma Gilda waiting for him at the bedroom door and he rushed into her arms. "Come now Meriadoc," she laughed and set him down. "We have work to do, the featherbeds all need shaking and you shall help as you're a big strong lad. Buttercup the elderly chambermaid was there too and she and Grandmamma had stripped the big bed of its covers and were taking hold of either end of the enormous mattress. Merry caught a corner of the cambric material and, on the word "go", lifted and shook with all his might, giggling with glee as feathers and fluff flew up into the air, making little snowstorms in the shafts of light that shone through the early morning windows of Brandy Hall.

"We have to shake the bed well, Merry" Grandmamma laughed as he sneezed a feather off his nose. "The hobbit lads and lasses in the Shire will be waiting for the snow to fall so they can play tobogganing."

"Is this what makes the snow, Grandmamma Gilda?" Merry asked in wonder. "When you shake the beds?"

"Of course my child." Grandmamma put her hands on her hips and smiled patiently at him. "Did you think it was only dragons that brought the snow?"

"Yes," Merry gave his corner of the bed another little shake and watched the white down puff up into the air again as it escaped the confines of the thick cambric material. "Wait till I tell Pip about this, he'll be surprised too."

"Oh Merry my dove," Grandmamma stroked his hair now and even old Buttercup came and patted his hand kindly. "You can't be with Pippin for a long time yet. You've both got to be in different places for a while. But we'll be here with you until your Pip comes."

Merry gasped in disbelief, his joy at reliving the bedmaking with Grandmamma quickly fading as he realised Pippin would not be joining him soon. "But – but I'm not ready to say goodbye to Pip yet Grandmamma, we still have lots we have to do together. I need to see him again, please."

"No Merry, you can't just now." His Grandma started smoothing his hair down damping her palm first with her tongue in that annoying way that Grandmothers do. "There's a lady here to see you now."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Boromir jerked awake at the sudden terrified scream calling out a name. He was on his feet crouching low with his unsheathed sword at the ready in his right hand, unconsciously clutching to his chest a small burden in his left arm.

Scanning the campsite he saw Gimli staring at him, alert and alarmed but not armed. Warily, Boromir stared back, silently willing Gimli to give him some indication of the problem. Raised eyebrows and a tilt of the dwarf's head caused the man to look down and notice just what or whom he was crushing to his chest in his haste and concern over an attack. His little bundle was sobbing hysterically and it wasn't but a moment before Boromir realised he'd jolted to his feet clutching Peregrin in a fierce hold. Had he hurt the lad?

Boromir made a little clucking sound as he quickly knelt and tried to stand the hobbit upright. "Pippin? Did I hurt you? Tell me. I am so very sorry. I didn't mean to crush you. But I heard in my sleep someone cry out in fear and I thought we were under attack. Shush, now little one! 'Twas a mistake I greatly regret."

He tried unsuccessfully to get Peregrin to stand on his own and this truly alarmed him. With his sword now lying on the ground, he himself kneeling, Boromir tried again to get the hobbit to stand. But the lad's hands were clenched in his tunic and the little head was trying to bury itself in his chest. Peregrin's terror was noticeably palpable. Boromir did not need to see the lad's face. He could feel the fear and desperation in every inch pressed to him. As his mind cleared from the sudden rush to wake he wondered, surely he hadn't squashed Peregrin that hard, had he?

"Peregrin? Lad?" Holding the hobbit now gently as he could, he sat down and tried to force the small head away from his chest so he could see the lad's eyes. "Pippin? Hello lad! Pippin?" He managed with a large hand on either side of Peregrin's face to force him to look up. "Are you hurt, friend?" Boromir was now very concerned. There was something amiss here and he had a very bad feeling about it. As he sat quiet now, that very bad feeling began to grow hot in the pit of his stomach. He'd heard Meriadoc's name called out in his dream. Merry's name. It had sounded as… as if, it were little Pippin calling in sheer terror.

All of a sudden, Boromir's skin went cold. A deep dread spread over him and he realised it came from the little bundle in his lap. In a flash, he recalled this feeling. It had happened once before.

He and Faramir were mere lads. They'd been playing out in a field as they often did when they could beg off their lessons. Lying on their backs, Boromir had shown his little brother fantastical designs in the clouds, they'd eaten their noon-meal, laughed about their new tutor and eventually drifted off to nap in the heat of the afternoon.

Then something had jolted Boromir awake from his almost-sleep. He reached for his brother to push him away so he could sit up. Faramir had always preferred to use him as a pillow rather than lie flat on the hard ground. When Boromir was in a good mood, he allowed it. That day, that late afternoon when he jerked awake and sat upright, he did not dump Faramir to the ground. No, his brother was already awake, sitting straight, staring in the direction of their rooms far off in the distance. A terrible, horrified feeling came over Boromir as he watched his younger brother sit frozen in place, unable to move, or unwilling to.

Boromir had stood, hauling his brother to his feet and setting him in motion. The slower of the two, five-year-old Faramir had never outrun Boromir who was twice his years. That day though it was Boromir who had trouble keeping up as they sped home. They reached the gate together, both blowing like winded horses, Faramir wide eyed and speechless, standing stalk upright still as a statue except for his heaving chest, Boromir leaning over to catch his breath gasping out for one of the servants to bring them water. The dread and fear he'd felt emanate from Faramir on their waking had not diminished. Yet Boromir could not bring himself to ask the matter. When no one came to greet his calls, he took his brother by the hand and they entered their house.

Remembering the shock of that day hit Boromir cold and hard as he sat with little Peregrin, not too much smaller than Faramir had been on that day, though Boromir himself was now full grown into a man. Tears welled involuntarily in his eyes as his memories continued to roll on and Pippin's tangible anguish did not lessen.

Whispering, so quiet he wasn't sure he even had voiced the words, so he asked again, "Pippin? Who died?" Once the words had been spoken aloud Boromir felt his own tears begin to fall. Green eyes looked up at him wordlessly and the premonition of dread intensified. Memories of his mother's death washed over him as he cradled Peregrin close to him just as he'd done with Faramir when they'd been told the news. "Oh, God of my father, hear me now. Please don't let it be Merry."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"Legolas?"

Dimly he heard his name called but for what reason and by who he cared not, nothing mattered at that moment except the feel of thick, tightly sprung curls against his wet cheek, soft suntanned skin clutched under his palms, and the familiar earthy scent that was hobbit. _'Lady, please hear me…spare him! He is too young to pass… take me instead; I offer you my life freely! Spare him!'_

"He's dead isn't he?" Mr Tugman stated sadly, coming up behind his still kneeling wife and placing his careworn hand on her shoulder as she openly cried and instinctively turned toward her husband for comfort.

Haldir sheathed his knives and knelt close to Legolas, who seemed no longer aware of anything that happened around him until Haldir tried to prise the Halfling's body from his grasp.

"No!" He screamed and drew away from the Marchwarden as if his touch burned, scuttling into the nearest corner of the room where he grew silent as he stared into Merry's unseeing eyes.

By this time Rúmil and Orophin had lowered their bows and looked to their brother for guidance, thanking Ilúvatar that they still had each other.

He was a piteous sight and he knew it, the crown prince of Greenwood the Great huddled on a filthy wooden floor, crying like the elfling he felt, and in that moment he so desperately wished for his father, but then abandoned that line of thought, he would not wish for his father to see what shame he brought to his House.

_'Oh Merry, thirty-six summers is too short a time'_ His thoughts turned darker as he studied the hobbit's slack features. Somewhere back in Buckland his mother and father awaited his return, but that would never happen now and Buckland had been robbed of its only heir, a bright bubbly hobbit that would now never have the chance to fall in love and marry, raise children, rule Brandy Hall and grow old in peace. Gone!

It was in this moment of deep despair, while Haldir spoke much more civilly with the Tugmans, Orophin and Rúmil whispering between themselves and casting him concerned glances that it happened.

Orophin was the first to voice his discovery, "Brothers, look!"

Haldir and Rúmil followed his gaze and in doing so drew the attention of the human couple who both gasped as they beheld the devastated prince glowing brightly.

Legolas felt like he had fallen asleep as warmth steadily consumed him and his adrenalin-drained muscles loosened and became limp and weak, he could feel the very blood in his veins as his heart pumped it around his body, drunk on the strange sensation that suffused him he looked down upon Merry with half-closed eyes.

An overwhelming urge seized him; placing his hand on Merry's cold brow he began to chant words that were not his own and, as his voice grew in strength, he felt the warmth from his hand drain into the hobbit and continue to do so until the invading chill travelled the full length of his arm and spread to his chest.

Rúmil and Orophin stood transfixed, never had they seen an elf's fea shine so brightly, not even the returned Balrog-slayer, Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flower, whose aura shone brighter than all elves, save the Lady Galadriel, was so blinding.

"Meriadoc, Meriadoc Brandybuck return, look to the light, hear my voice and follow…"

The haunting tenor rang out and they watched as the light generated from Legolas rushed into Merry's body until only a pale glow remained around the prince who slumped further against the wall. When that fragile glow began to flicker Haldir stepped forward and wrenched Legolas' hand from Merry's brow having suspicions it was Legolas very own life he poured into Merry.

"Daro!" He cried; as he felt the broken links of energy writhe beneath the wood elf's flesh quickly diminish, giving way to winter's ice. "You go too far, it is enough!"

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"But I don't want to see anyone else." Merry said stubbornly. "I want to see Pippin and if…"

"Dear little one, let me not hear you do not want to see me."

The hobbit gasped in awe as a vision of elegance and beauty swept into the low ceilinged chamber. She was tall and elven and her golden hair swept down to the floor and yet not a strand was out of place, moving and flowing gracefully around her white silken gown. Menegilda bowed her head and Buttercup bobbed a respectful curtsey. Merry stood stock still with his mouth open.

"Don't gape Merry," his Grandmother whispered. "Remember your manners."

But before Merry could gather his wits, the glowing vision smiled at him and offered her hand. She spoke not to Merry but rather to his Grandmamma. "I am sorry Menegilda, but Merry is not to be here yet. I must take him from you again, but I trust you enjoyed your visit."

"Thank you Milady." Menegilda made a bob this time as she spoke. "I am sorry to lose him again so soon, but truly glad of it. He is yet young to be here."

"Come Merry," The vision took his hand and led him away. "You have much still to do but I will help you. Someone has interceded on your behalf and I will lessen your pain a little and you will soon be set on the road to healing."

Merry finally opened his mouth to speak. First to say goodbye to his Grandmamma and then to ask the beautiful vision a question. But before any words could leave his lips, he felt a warm glow surge through his body, followed by the crippling pain back in his chest. He gave a small cry, but then the glow turned to gold and he watched as the golden light engulfed him, soothing his return and lessening the agony. He saw Legolas cradling his spent and crumpled body and looked up at the Lady. She nodded sadly and he knew that he had to return, had to face whatever pain was waiting.

But he was glad to go. He had not finished, Pippin was still there and Frodo and his parents, and dear old Sam would want him to live. The Lady touched him lightly on the head and a little thrill of energy pulsed through his frame and he knew he could do it.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Looking down at Merry, Haldir could clearly see the rise and fall of his small chest, his skin and lips had lost the blue hue death had turned them and instead the colour was returning to both his cheeks and lips.

Haldir turned his attentions back to the prince and motioned Rúmil and Orophin to relieve Legolas of Merry's weight and allowed the Tugmans to fuss over the hobbit while he assessed the wood elf. Legolas remained motionless, breath coming in small gasps, no longer able to support his head, it now rested heavily against the wall and upon closer scrutiny Haldir caught the dizziness that spun in those azure depths.

_"Mellon,_ _man agorech_? What did you do my friend?" He whispered and waited, as the pale lids closed heavily, covering the blue unseeing eyes.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Gimli sucked on his pipe, ridiculous to ask the nearly oblivious hobbit anything. He watched, wishing there was something he could do, but he also needed to keep alert to their surroundings – between Pippin's weeping and Boromir's fretting, any number of orcs or other assorted creatures might hear them. Boromir at last settled down, embracing their small companion protectively.

Then, to Gimli's consternation, Boromir went quite still. Pippin continued to cry, though less violently, and Boromir continued to hold him almost tenderly, but Boromir's gaze was elsewhere, lost in a memory and no longer focused on their small charge. Gimli sat up sharply, pipe forgotten, axe at the ready.

Gimli watched, horrified, as Boromir began to weep as well. "Pippin?" The man whispered. "Who died?" Pippin at last raised his head and the two stared at each other, locked in some dreadful silent understanding that Gimli was not privy to. Boromir breathed something to Pippin, but Gimli couldn't hear the words; he could only observe the look of horror on Boromir's face. This was something worse than orcs, worse even than the loss of Gandalf.

"Here now!" Gimli said, stiffly rising to his feet, leaning heavily on the boulder he'd been crouching behind. "What is this nonsense! The two of you settle down or you'll have these woods swarming with orcs." He hobbled closer to the others, dragging his splinted leg behind. "Here now, lad; dry your tears." Fumbling in his pack, he pulled out a rather shabby handkerchief. "That's a good lad. Now blow. Yes." Pippin obliged, thoroughly and noisily, and then took a deep breath.

"I-I'm sorry Gimli, Boromir," Pippin looked devastated. The liveliness that had once annoyed Gimli and then charmed him, had now fled. Gimli was struck to the heart at the sight. "It-it was – something terrible – I just know… no I can't say…" Pippin broke off and sobbed into the handkerchief.

"And you," Gimli said, trying to ignore his fears and turning to Boromir, who eyed the handkerchief with some concern. "What did you say to the lad? What has happened here?

"He felt a death… it is not for me to say," Boromir could at last meet Gimli's eye, not ashamed of reliving his old sorrow with Pippin, "I had experienced something similar once and I felt for the lad."

Felt a death? What magic was this? Gimli decided that rather than cause more upset by asking his friends to explain he would focus on practicalities. "Come. We have rested enough this night. We have miles to go. We must take Pippin to his cousins, and even I, a dwarf from Erebor, desire the safety of the Elves. Rise, Boromir; rise and let's hasten away. This is an evil place, to cause you such grief for no apparent purpose."

Despite his broken leg, Gimli tried to take Pippin from Boromir, who held fast to the lad. He did rise, though, and helped Pippin to his feet. Both remained silent, their faces drawn and exhausted, as they slowly readied themselves for departure. Gimli hobbled back to his boulder and awkwardly slung his pack around his shoulders. He was in pain, but determined not to show it to his companions when they were in such a state. He picked up the crutch Pippin had fashioned for him, staring at it sadly, and then turned.

"Gentlemen," he said firmly, remembering how effective that had been when said by Aragorn. "Time to leave."

Pippin straightened up, wiping at his dirty face, leaving muddy tear-stained smudges under his eyes. Gimli felt a pang; his cousins would have taken such good care of him, but here he was: dirty-faced, clothing torn, still gasping from the terrible woe that had overtaken him, and all Gimli could do was push him on, past his endurance, in the no doubt vain hope that Elves, **_Elves_**, would find and rescue them.

Boromir, the more seasoned veteran of the two, recovered much more quickly. He tugged at Pippin's pack, making sure the straps weren't digging into the thin shoulders, and thumbed away the worst of the dirt. The two stared at each other, and Gimli shivered; this was too uncanny for a poor dwarf. "Let's go," he said roughly, and stumbled forward. Boromir wordlessly seized him and slid an arm around his back for support; Pippin came to stand at his other side.

"Let's go," Gimli said again, but gently this time. "All will be well," he added shyly, and hoped his companions would believe him.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"What?" Legolas breathed in confusion and tried to straighten himself, frustration and an edge of panic flitted across his face before he was able to hide it.

Haldir motioned for Orophin to bring the wooden rocking chair from the far corner and, much to the prince's embarrassment, he found himself lifted and placed in it.

The cool night air that blew in through the open door soon helped to revive Legolas and he dimly realised that the Marchwarden had asked him a question and that he had yet to answer, but before he could form a coherent sentence Haldir continued.

"That was very dangerous you foolish wood elf!" He fumed as Orophin and Rúmil visibly winced, having been on the receiving end of more than one reprimand from their eldest brother.

Legolas registered Haldir's frown at him deepen, his prior condescension dropping away to be replaced by concern, but he had no strength to reply and was forced to take a deep breath and concentrate to calm his pounding heart.

Haldir looked at the faltering elf questioningly, and Legolas gave him a small nod, at which Haldir turned to face the humans. "We are leaving" Haldir declared in Westron to the couple who had rewrapped Merry in the blanket and added two more for good measure.

Mrs Tugman brushed back the curls from Merry's right ear and traced the intricately shaped shell that could not belong to a human child, tenderly, her mother's instinct still reluctant to face the truth. "Aye. Oi sees now that thy friend told no lie, this' un's not human though Oi wished he were." Sighing wistfully she allowed Haldir to take Merry into his arms and stepped back to her husband's side.

"Oi don't rightly understand all that's happened here tonight and Oi don't need to nohow," Mr Tugman turned his gaze to Legolas and pinned him with his stare. "Oi don't know how thee did it but the young-un was stone-dead, we all saw it and thee brought him back. Elves are a strange folk no mistake, but Oi and Missus Tugman have always known our own minds and 'andsome is as 'andsome does we says."

He allowed his lips to curl as he stared at Merry's sleeping form, who nestled deeper into the Marchwarden's woollen garb until the tip of one pointed ear and a mop of fair curls were all that could be seen, "He'll be safe enough with thee". But then in a slightly reprimanding tone he added," But Oi'll thank thee not to come inta my home again uninvited, Oi don't know how it is with thine own folks but we humans likes our privacy! Thee near scared Missus Tugman inta an early grave!"

Haldir stared down his nose at Mr Tugman, radiating disdain but surprisingly Orophin answered, "You have been offered apologies by our friend. I hope that you will accept ours as well, we truly did not mean to cause such a disturbance to you".

As Haldir and Rúmil watched in shock, Orophin moved forward and extended his hand to Mr Tugman in human fashion. The Tugmans looked at one another before Mr Tugman clasped the delicate, bow-calloused hand in a firm handshake. As they stepped back Orophin moved to stand before Mrs Tugman, reaching for her hand and lightly pressing a kiss to the back of her palm, which elicited an embarrassed giggle and something about her mother warning her as a child to beware of handsome charmers and their roguish ways, which earned her a raised brow from Haldir and a grin from Rúmil at her reaction.

Haldir sighed loudly and moved towards the door, his message obvious and, after thanking Mr and Mrs Tugman once again for caring for his young charge, Legolas allowed Rúmil and Orophin to assist him and they lifted his weary arms across their shoulders and hoisted the elf between them as they left the cabin.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

TO BE CONTINUED

Hullo, folks. It's Sam again, and Mr Gimli is with me this time. We thought with Mr Merry dead (or almost), and Master Pippin driven into exhaustion from grief, and all of us in dire straits, Mr Gimli and me were in the best shape to answer your comments. At least we aren't bleeding or running or having ta fight off some dreadful creature at the moment…

**_Reasonably crazy:_** There is some Snazzy Elven CPR around,  
right? Right? Right right right?  
**_Sam:_** Hullo! Pardon me, but what's Snazzy Elven CPR?' Don't think  
we have that in Middle-earth. Sounds delicious, though.

**_Anso the Hobbit:_** NO! You are so very mean! How is Pippin going to help the others out of Moria now that he has lost his Merry?  
**_Gimli_**: You never saw such a pitiful sight as that youngling, lass. Our poor Peregrin. Boromir and I don't quite know what to make of all this, but we hope the lad's wrong. These young hobbits have a way of creeping into the heart and making themselves at home there. If Merry truly has died, this world will be a colder place.

**_Auntiemeesh_**: And then, just when we thought things were going well, Merry up and dies! How terribly tragic. And poor Pippin, feeling Merry dying, while they're linked. Oh dear, that's going to be a hard thing to recover from. I'm glad Boromir and Gimli are there to take care of him.  
**_Gimli_**: It's a sight to tear your heart. Peregrin has been so brave, all through losing Gandalf and the battle in Moria, and Merry being so terribly wounded. This final blow might be more than the youngling can take. At least the little halfling sleeps now, safe in Boromir's arms. I dread what he might have to face when he awakes.

**_Reasonably Crazy:_** YOU TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE PEOPLE! I thought it was great! Dandy! Swell! Very in depth and in-character! There's always hope for a happy ending, right? AND THEN WHAT DO YOU DO! You- you- you... PREFORM THE UNSPEAKABLE! Ha, if you had killed/maimed Pippin, THEN I might be a little more... exuberant in my berating.  
**_Sam_**: That seems a bit harsh, meaning no disrespect. Master Pip does drive us all batty now and then, but he's young (and a Took, if you take my meaning). As for a happy ending … well, I don't know if this story will have one - for us, anyway. I know what we're doing, taking that evil Ring to Mordor, is the most important thing in the world, but I'd rather be back home in Mr Frodo's garden, sharing a pipe with him of an evening. That'd be a happy ending, if you ask me. Guess there's no chance of that til we see this through.

**_Ica_**: Could someone please give Gimli a good slap upside the head? Stop trying to be so noble, you silly dwarf-of course they're not going to leave you behind! I'm absolutely loving the angst-o-rama of this story! And it is SO fabulously written. Kudos to all the authors, and double-kudos to the editors!**_Gimli_**: Humph! I feel I must point out that I was putting my comrades' welfare above my own, as any honorable dwarf would do. Especially when they are only human and hobbit.  
**_Sam_**: Well, no one's leaving anyone behind. Beggin' your pardon, sir. This Big Person has some sense, anyway. Not sure what angst-o-rama' is, though.

**_TXMedic_**: Whoo-hoo! A new chapter. I've been quite neglectful about reviewing, and I do apologize. I've very much enjoyed this story and look forward to reading the next chapter. I've particularly enjoyed the Boromir/Gimli/Pippin arc. Keep up the good work!  
**_Gimli_**: You might be of a different opinion if you had to journey with a very active, energetic young halfling who rarely stops talking. And running about. And who, somehow, has managed to wind all of us around his smallest finger… It is quite perplexing.

**_Pip4_**: No! Merry can't have died. I refuse to believe it. I have read these kinds of stories before. There's gonna be some cool happening and he'll come back and he won't be dead. Right? If he does Boromir and Gimli have to look after Pippin, please. Frodo was nice. I'm glad he didn't get mad at Sam as Sam would have thought. All in all it was a good chapter guys :)  
**_Sam_**: Mr Frodo has a forgiving heart, no mistake. That's why I love him, I suppose. He's like that. It will just kill him if Master Pip's right about Mr Merry. I hope we are together again someday, all of us. Except for dear old Mr Gandalf, of course…

**_Pippinheart_**: This is very nice...Poor Sam worried about Frodo will be upset since he fell asleep…  
Pippin and Merry can feel each others pain, merry can to pippin and now pippin believed merry is gone...Can't wait for more...  
**_Sam_**: On behalf of all us hobbits (I'm sure Mr Frodo would agree), thank you. I've seen those cousins together since I was just a little lad, and know how much they love each other. If Mr Merry has died, it is going to just destroy my master. I can't imagine how Mr Pippin is taking it…

**_Piptook_**: OMG! NO! you can't kill Merry! please don't! Merry can't die! if Merry dies, then Pippin will die from sadness! NO! you can't kill off two of the hobbits! please i beg you!  
**_Gimli:_** It's not under our control, unfortunately. We swore to protect the Ring-bearer, but all of us know that oath extends to all the halflings. Legolas will take care of young Meriadoc, if he can. And Boromir and I will do what we can for young Pippin.

**_Aranna Undomiel:_** Oh merdre! You can't kill Merry, no! NO! And then leave us with such a nasty cliffie, very evil it is indeed!  
**_Gimli_**: These writers seem to enjoy – cliffies, I believe you said? – entirely too much, if you ask me. Of course, most of the blame falls on Llinos, who is doing the final whip-up. I've noticed that trait in humans. Especially this one. If you read her story called "Recaptured!" you'll be tearing your beard out.

**_FantasyFan:_** Another great chapter in which people sleep, talk about sleeping, and even talk whilst sleeping. I always tell my kids they need their sleep, for growing and healing. Let's hope some healing happens here quickly - you are scaring me, Merry!  
**_Sam_**: A lass who thinks like a hobbit! WE know the importance of resting. Not that we've been allowed much o' that on this Adventure. Naps, I mean. And a moment to smoke a pipe without some ugly band o' orcs trying to kill us. And a decent bite of food. And … well, it's a long list, it is.

**_maripo5a_**: No! I was just sort of floating along, thinking, "Now if we can just get Merry extricated from the dratted humans, everyone will be fine," and now THIS? Author, thy name is cruelty! sniffle Fix my Merry! Wah! Loved how this chapter gave (almost) everyone some breathing room, time to calm down and get refreshed. Legolas, just TAKE THE FREAKIN' HOBBIT AND RUN. (Gently.) Okay? Okay. At this point I am fed up with the stupid stubborn human hillbillies and Haldir & Co should feel free to skewer them if it gets Merry's heart re-started and allows Legolas to take him to healers. deep breath Well. I feel better.  
**_Gimli_**: You seem a tad excitable, there. I've noticed that about humans. Not as steady as Dwarves.  
**_Sam_**: I'm glad that the readers care about us. Them writers are an evil lot. I wish they'd listen to maripo5a.

**_My-fool-of-a-took_**: Merry! no merry can't die! wails and hugs pippin tight he can't be dead, right? please don't be dead merry. hugs and kisses if u wake up again. update soon i hafta know!  
**_Sam_**: If there's anything that would bring the lad back, that would do it. Hobbits aren't as stand-offish as Big Folk. Not that I'm criticizing, mind you. Wouldn't be my place. I just mean that hobbits know how important it is to show our love for each other.

**_Storyfish_**: Ooh, you bloodthirsty fiends! Bring on the angst! But in all seriousness, this chapter rocked! The perfect combination of scary developments and touching moments. Two requests. 1. BRING MERRY BACK! WAH! and 2. Feed Pippin. Or I'll have to come over to Middle Earth myself with my stash of instant oatmeal. -D  
**_Sam_:** hopefully Oatmeal – that's porridge, isn't it? That'd be right welcome. If'n you'd been fighting and running for your life, you'd be ready to eat whatever came your way, too! Of course, Master Pippin being a tweenager (and a Took), he's suffering more than us adult hobbits. I truly hope he's wrong about Mr Merry. The lad wouldn't be able to go on. Neither would Mr Frodo, if it came to that.

**_Mae Ari_**: Gah! Merry better not die, he'd better not! The Tugmans and the Elves have to work together to revive Merry. Oh please, please please let Merry be all right. Poor Pip! Imagine seeing a friend like that. shudder I can't wait until everyone arrives at Lothlorien. It's my favorite place, and I hope they find some rest there. But maybe I'm just babbling.  
**_Sam_**: I always thought Elves could do anything – Mr Bilbo's tales always seemed so. I know Mr Legolas will do the best he can for Merry, but I don't know how many of us will see each other again. Lothlórien seems a long way away right now. And don't you say you're sorry for babbling – if Mr Frodo didn't need me, I'd be wailing like a babe right now.

**_Earelwen_**: Bring my Merry back please! Please don't kill him! Legolas drop and do CPR NOW! It's horrible, it's terrible! Gosh I wish I'd thought of it! A masterpiece beyond comparison in the angst category. On the funny side of the chapter I keep getting images of Boromir in an apron and curlers, looking after hordes of hobbit children. How long do you estimate this story will be in the end?  
**_Sam_**: Could you send me the recipe for this CPR' folks keep going on  
about? Can you stew it?  
**_Gimli_**: I think it is some sort of medical … thing, Samwise. I'd be hesitant to accept a recipe from someone who sees Boromir in an apron and curlers.' It sounds like the ingredients might include those mushrooms you hobbits are so fond of. As for estimating the length of this tale … well, like a vein of mithril, you just have to mine it till it runs out.

**_Smalldiver_**: EEK! Merry had a heart attack/stroke thingy! Dude, this is such a great chapter - it has things going well for Aragorn and co contrasted with the bad things for Legolas and co. All of you Authors are so talented it makes me sit back and smile. Is completely in love with this story now  
**_Sam_**: Mr Strider's doing his best for Mr Frodo and me, and we're right grateful. We're still in a bit of shock, I think. I know what happened in Moria's going ta give me nightmares for a long, long time. Yet I'd trade that good meal and every moment of peace to know what's happening with the others.

**_Bubonic Woodchuck:_** I absolutely love this fic - I have a weakness for well-written LotR AU - and I love where it's going (not that I'd know, but. . .yeah). Anyways, I really do hope Merry isn't dead. . .it's just not Merry and Pippin without Merry, after all. Also, I absolutely love the Gimli, Boromir and Pippin bits. resists urge to glomp Boromir, which sadly fails Squee! GLOMP Keep writing!  
**_Gimli_**: From what I've heard of humans, Boromir would not object to a second attempt at a glomp.' You might let him have a bit of a rest and try again.

**_Anniy_**: What! Did Merry die? But-but you can't do that!  
**_Sam_**: But we didn't! Oh – you mean the writers. Well, some of them have a wicked streak, if you ask me.

**_Ziyal:_** YAY!NEW CHAPTERS! bounces up and down for joy i so love this story! Thank you so much! bows and worships you off to read the entire story again thank you darling.  
**_Sam_**: You and Master Pippin would get along well! It's good to know that our story goes on. I always thought it'd be fine to be a story … a bunch of gaffers and gammers sitting in the sun, spinning tales … but right now I'd rather be one o' them and not in the story myself.  
**_Gimli_**: Aye, Master Samwise. Well said.


	14. Interludes

The East Gate

Authors The Eastgaters

Cast list  
Frodo – Baylor  
Samwise – Budgielover  
Pippin – Marigold  
Merry – Llinos  
Legolas – Mainframe  
Aragorn – Nilramiel  
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker  
Gimli – Q

The Wicked Elves – Baylor & Mainframe  
The Not So Wicked Elves - Llinos

Story Editor Llinos  
Beta Marigold

Chapter 14 - Interludes

"Young Master Took," Gimli tried his stern voice, the one he used to impress upon the hobbits not only his superior age, but also his superior height, a novel experience for a dwarf. "You must have faith, dry your eyes and trust in the fates – all will be well."

Pippin looked bleakly at Gimli. "I wish that were so. But all won't be well, Gimli. Not ever again." Though he had stopped sobbing, new tears coursed down his cheeks and he didn't bother to brush them away.

He raised his eyes to Boromir, knowing that the man somehow understood what had just happened and waited in dread for confirmation. Pippin could hardly bring himself to say the words.

"He's dead. Merry is dead. I felt him die, I felt it all."

Abruptly he turned away from his two friends and set off. They had escaped the Mines, they had survived another night against all odds, but Pippin felt no joy. In fact he felt as though his soul had been ripped from him.

Pippin was glad that his Merry no longer suffered that terrible physical pain, but the emotional pain he himself felt at having Merry torn from him would never fade. And he had been so happy the night before – Merry had come to him somehow. At least he had that memory to cling to and maybe by sharing his cousin's death he had made it easier, made Merry's pain more bearable somehow. He hoped that was so. What he had suffered with Merry had been terrifying, and had hurt so much!

Pippin dazedly wondered if he could bear the grief he was feeling enough to go on, but go on he must, there was nothing for it. Boromir and Gimli were counting on him and he could not let them down. Frodo needed him. Merry would expect him to carry on – and carry on he would, no matter how hard it was.

In complete silence they returned to the watercourse and continued to follow it south. As none of them really knew the location of the Golden Wood it seemed the wisest thing to do. Pippin hoped they would reach it soon. He was frantic to know if Frodo was all right, and Sam and Aragorn and Legolas, but now reaching them would also bring confirmation of Merry's death and he dreaded actually hearing the words. Pippin tried to keep his mind focussed on their surroundings but it was almost impossible and he found himself constantly brushing stinging tears away.

All that day, as they struggled onward, Pippin barely spoke and his companions respected his need to be left alone. They stopped briefly to rest twice, and both times Pippin curled up next to Boromir and withdrew into himself until it was time to move on again. He wasn't hungry and would not eat despite their cajoling.

In the middle of the afternoon they found a shallow place where the river could be forded, and after a quick council, to which Pippin contributed little, it was decided that it was time to put themselves on the same side of it as their missing companions should have been. All three became drenched in the process, and Pippin almost despaired of them getting Gimli across. It was beyond his own depth at one point and Pippin was forced to paddle with his feet and one hand, hanging on to Boromir's cloak with the other, to avoid being swept downstream. Still they kept on, their clothes sopping wet, not daring to stop and make a fire despite the chill wind. Finally they reached the outlying trees of a wood and were sheltered from the worst of the wind.

By then it was but an hour before dusk, and they were beginning to keep an eye out for a good place to camp for the night when Pippin froze. There was not much undergrowth for concealment and he could see no one, yet his sharp ears could hear faint sounds of movement. They were not alone, but had they been spotted? Certainly whatever it was must have heard them; a man and a dwarf with a broken leg made enough noise that Pippin had cringed frequently over the past two days. He held his hand up to halt Boromir and Gimli and looked about frantically. He would have no trouble concealing himself – he was a hobbit after all – but there was no hope of hiding a man and a dwarf. These two were just not good at blending into this type of environment.

There was only one thing for it. Pippin silently drew his sword and waited for the enemy to come, determined to defend his friends as best he could.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Vanaloth and Gayadur exchanged troubled looks. "We have heard nothing of your companions," Vanaloth said after a pause, "but do not think that means they have not been found. There has been much activity this night. Do not despair! But let us travel together and perhaps we will have news soon."

No news of Merry and Legolas? Somehow Sam had been certain that Vanaloth would nod his elegant head and say, "Yes, they are safe and Meriadoc is healing nicely. We will take you to them directly." When he did not hear those words, Sam's mind went momentarily blank. Not found? Not safe?

The distress Sam saw on his master's face tore his heart. Pushing aside his own sudden grief and fear, he declared, "I'll just get us ready 'ta go while you sirs talk, if that's all right, Mr Frodo." As he had hoped, his interruption drew Aragorn's and the elves' attention away from Frodo and allowed his master a few moments to gather himself. Sam bustled over to the smoked meat, examined it carefully, and then began folding it to store away in their packs. He wasn't about to leave any provisions behind – not that he didn't trust the elves, mind you, but waste not, want not as his Gaffer had hammered into him. The meat readied for travel, Sam gave his hands a quick wash from his waterskin then began packing away their now-dry clothes, showing proper hobbit-sense for the importance of food before clothing.

Sam listened with half an ear, but most of his attention was turned inwards. He had been so sure that everything would be all right as soon as they reached Lothlórien, as soon as they met the elves. These elves had said they had heard nothing – that didn't mean that Merry and Legolas hadn't made it. The two might already be in the Golden Wood, just waiting for them to arrive. Once they had rested a little, maybe Vanaloth and Gayadur would organize an expedition back to the Mines to… to make sure. Sam held no hope in his heart that little Pippin, Mr Boromir or Mr Gimli had survived – he remembered those last horrible moments all too well. But the lad's body should be returned to his family – if they could find it. If there was anything left of it. Sam had no doubts about what uses orcs would have for their victims – no better than ravenous cruel beasts the evil creatures were. Those thoughts were too dreadful to contemplate, and Sam thrust them from his mind.

He was the one that needed distracting now. Sam scrubbed at his face with a sleeve and gave both his and his master's pack a final quick check. _'Mr Frodo's going to be stubborn about walking'_, he thought dismally. _'He should allow himself to be carried, let them ribs heal__a bit. Wish he'd listen to me.'_ That Sam should possibly allow himself to be carried never entered the hobbit's mind. He swung his pack over his shoulder and staggered slightly, then caught his balance.

His movement drew the others' attention to him, and Sam straightened his back and raised his head, hands tightening on the straps of his pack. He coughed discreetly. Vanaloth and Gayadur smiled at him and he felt a little better. "All ready, Mr Frodo, when you are."

Despite pain and fatigue and worry and grief, Frodo could not help but smile at his faithful servant. "Good old Sam!" he said. "But did you not hear Vanaloth just say that we would carry our packs no farther? I will not insist that you be carried, but you will not bear that cooking gear one more step."

Frodo pretended not to notice Aragorn averting his face to hide a smile as he readied himself for travel, nor did he heed Vanaloth and Gayadur exchanging amused glances. Instead, he levelled a firm look at Samwise, picked up his own pack and turned it over to Gayadur, showing that he would practice what he preached.

"We're ready to go as soon as Sam gets rid of that pack," he told their new escorts.

Vanaloth took a step towards Samwise and held out his hands for the hobbit's burden. Sam gulped and took an involuntary step backwards. One of these lordly folk carry _his_ pack? It was right and proper that they carry his master's, and Strider's, but not his, like he was one of the _Quality_. Sam's hands tightened on the straps and he edged past the elf to take cover behind Frodo, giving his master an agonized look. He couldn't allow an elf – a Lothlórien elf! – to do his job.

Vanaloth's smile widened and amusement sparkled in his clear eyes. Gayadur laughed outright, and Sam darted him a panicked glance. "Now Master Samwise, I assure you I will not drop it," promised Vanaloth.

"Oh no, sir! I didn't think you would! Drop it, I mean. I mean…" Sam trailed off, aware that he was going to receive absolutely no help from his master… or Strider. They were probably laughing at him. The elves certainly were. Sam sighed. If his Gaffer heard about his son handing his pack to one of the fair folk to carry, no doubt there would be **_Words_**.

Against his heartfelt wishes, Sam shrugged off the pack and walked forward to hand it to Vanaloth. The elf shouldered it easily, then pulled it around to loosen the straps to accommodate his larger frame. Trying the fit again, Vanaloth nodded, satisfied, and smiled at the hobbit, seeking to put him at ease. _'What strange folk these__are_,' thought the elf. _'They are wounded and exhausted to the end of__their strength, yet still they cling to their odd notions of__propriety._'

Gayadur met his fellow elf's eyes and smiled, knowing exactly what his companion was thinking. "Come," he said gently, "we must go."

Sam sighed again, defeated.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Legolas desperately wished to slip into the rest that would heal his body and mind, but he had failed Merry once and would not do so again. Though he knew he could not keep his fatigue at bay forever, he would not stop until the Marchwarden deemed it safe to do so. As he struggled to keep going he found his eyes often strayed to the unconscious bundle barely visible in Haldir's arms and felt a pang of regret that he was not strong enough to carry his friend himself.

After marching for a few hours, with only silence from the prince, save a stifled gasp now and then when their path took them over rough terrain, Rúmil could curb his anxiety and curiosity over what had happened no longer. He finally asked the question that burned bright in his mind. "Legolas…what did you do to save the perian?"

"I have been wondering the same, brother, I have never seen anything of the like before," Orophin said, looking at Legolas in concern.

Legolas drew in a deep breath; he had tried hard not to think yet about what he had done and had pushed it to the back of his thoughts. "I prayed to the Valar and it would seem they heard me," he gasped, still finding it difficult to speak and walk at the same time, despite being supported by the two brothers.

"Yes, but that does not explain what we witnessed. By _Elbereth_, Legolas you shone brighter than the very stars for a time!" Orophin exclaimed.

When the prince remained silent Haldir spoke harshly in his stead. "You both know an immortal's light. 'Twas his life essence you saw drain from his body, was it not Prince?"

Legolas heard twin gasps of dismay from either side of him as the reality of what that meant hit the brothers. "Are you… does this mean…have you…?" Rúmil stuttered unable to even articulate the question.

"I do not know to what extent the Lady took what I offered," Legolas whispered.

"What you mean is that you know not yet whether she has taken your immortality!" Haldir narrowed his eyes, but Orophin sent his brother a warning glare as he watched Legolas go even paler and felt his exhausted trembling increase.

"What is done is done, brother and it was not your choice to make. The Lady Galadriel will know." But Orophin could not keep the sadness and wonder from his tone at the possibility that the price Legolas had so willingly paid to save the perian may have doomed the prince to mortal death. "But it was a noble deed!"

"We should make haste indeed. Legolas, I swear in the short time I've known you, you've been determined to turn my hair grey," Rúmil spoke lightly, ever his way to lighten dark moods.

Haldir was not amused and said nothing, not even to chide, a sign to his brothers that he was angry indeed, and he increased his pace to put a distance between them. Yet they noted his fury was not aimed at the perian. Indeed, he held the hobbit with great care and gentleness, even in his haste.

Haldir's mood was not so much grim as perplexed. '_He would throw away his immortal life and forsake his family for one who will grow old and wither in less than a century!'_

Haldir wondered just what it was about this fragile little creature he now held in his arms that had touched an elf so deeply that he would offer up his immortality, or even part of it, to save him. But Legolas was clearly even more drained than he wished to admit and grudgingly Haldir shortened his anxious stride to accommodate the prince. There was no question in his mind that he still thought Legolas strange and misguided, yet he also could not condemn the conviction with which he held his duty, nor fail to acknowledge the nobility of his actions.

As Marchwarden, he and any other under his command in the Galadhrim would gladly lay down their life for their Lord and Lady and to protect their beloved Golden Wood and its people, but he was not sure if he could find it within himself to relinquish any part of his birthright for a mortal, and that worried him. If he had been in the prince's place and the Lady had entrusted him with the hobbit's life, would he have had the courage and selflessness needed to offer such a gift? Was his questioning of Legolas's actions jealousy, at the generosity of spirit and nobility revealed in the wood elf, and dismay that his own nobility might be found lacking were he ever to find himself in such a situation?

Deep in a maelstrom of thoughts Haldir almost missed the moment when two large blue eyes opened and the perian stared sleepily up at the surprised Marchwarden.

Merry looked up at Legolas carrying him. No, the face was wrong, it was not Legolas.

"Please who are you, sir? Where is Legolas? Is he all right?" Merry was surprised to find his voice so strong; he tried some more questions. "Where are we? Am I better now? Is Pippin here?"

"Which question would you have me answer first Master Perian?" Haldir quirked a small smile.

"Is Pippin here and is Legolas all right?" Merry chose.

_'Concern for others first_,' Haldir thought, _'interesting choice_.' He lifted the perian slightly so that he could see Legolas. "There is no one called Pippin here, but Legolas is living, does that answer you, sufficiently?"

"Yes sir," Merry managed to grasp Haldir's cloak, also trapping a few strands of the elf's golden hair without realising it. "But I don't know who you are? And is Legolas all right? He looks unwell. Am I better – I was very hurt, I remember?"

Haldir reluctantly found the hobbit a fascinating contradiction as he attempted to calm the small being's fears by lifting him again, just enough to see Legolas over one broad shoulder. He could understand why the aged human couple had mistaken him for a child, for outwardly, save for the telling feet, he too would have made the same mistake from a distance, but his eyes shone with an intellect that could not be found in a child.

"My name is Haldir of Lórien and I am Marchwarden of the Golden Wood." Haldir moved Merry's hand to free his own hair and moved him back to a lower place, cradled more comfortably against his body. "As to what has befallen the prince and if he is injured you will have to ask him yourself." Haldir felt a thread of disapproval resurface but quashed it mercilessly before it reached his eyes. "And as to whether you are better; he is pale because he has depleted much of his strength ensuring your survival and needs to rest. We shall do so before long."

"I tried not to be a burden to Legolas!" Merry's face clouded with distress and worry for his friend. "Why would he do that? I'm sorry, so sorry!"

Haldir silently reproached himself for causing Merry unintended pain and the hobbit for being oversensitive, and quickly sought to distract him from this blunder.

He wondered when the hobbit had last taken liquid, or even a bite to eat; almost certainly before his injury. "Would you like some water little one?"

Haldir smiled as he watched Merry's tongue dart out and lick his dry lips before he answered with a small nod. He uncorked his waterskin and held it to Merry's lips and was pleased as the little one drank thirstily in several loud gulps before he was forced to admonish him and instructed him to sip, not gulp, unless he wished his stomach to expel it.

Just as Haldir decided the perian had had as much as was wise and pulled away the waterskin, Legolas noticed the exchange and called out to Merry. He found the strength deep within himself to push away from Rúmil and Orophin and staggered to the Marchwarden's side. Haldir waited for the prince to sit, then placed Merry into his outstretched arms.

"Merry! You are awake! Are you well? Is the pain bearable? I still have a little of the _glaslichen_ i-if need be," he gasped.

Haldir sighed and strode away to scout the area, the prince sounded just like the halfling!

Rúmil and Orophin scowled at their brother as his grey clad form disappeared into the forest, misunderstanding his amusement for condescension. There was no need to be rude after all the pair had been through!

Orophin wasn't sure, but suspected that Legolas was in shock. They were only an hour away from the first outer flets, even now the Lady would be aware of their location, they could rest for a short while and Orophin mused that possibly it would be long enough for Haldir to resolve whatever had been bothering him since he did not wish to discuss it with either Rúmil or himself.

Security had been increased in the Golden Wood not long after the Fellowship had set out from Imladris, sentries were now posted in numbers no smaller than three and the previously seldom used outer flets were now occupied day and night as they quietly waited and watched for the Nine to arrive. Rúmil and Orophin were not privy to why these nine unlikely companions were so important, but they suspected their brother knew more than he allowed, all they had been told was that they must be protected at any price.

'Any price', Rúmil had teased Haldir as he had relayed Celeborn and Galadriel's instructions to them, but Haldir did not smile as he turned to his brother, face carefully blank and eyes gone cold and repeated those menacing words. If truth be told it scared Rúmil a little when his brother withdrew from them like that, it was as if he were able to shut off his emotions, even his voice held a note of detachment, and at those times he appeared as a stranger to Orophin and Rúmil and it pained the two brothers to see it. They never spoke of it to him, not wishing to add to their brother's burdens, but on their journey in search of the Nine Walkers Haldir had remained as a stranger to them right up until they first made contact with Legolas, and whatever information had been entrusted to him was obviously grave.

Rúmil silently sent a prayer to Ilúvatar that this war would end soon so that they may have their brother back and not have to endure this cold-hearted shell.

Haldir moved with a stealth that his unusually solidly built musculature belied, it gave him great satisfaction and was a point of pride with him that he was able to do so, for if he did not wish anyone to know of his passing, not even Celeborn who had taught he and his brothers the ways of the forest, would be able to find him.

All elves moved silently, it was their gift to move as one with nature and he found it thrilling still when a tree reached out to him to caress his cheek as he passed under it or offered him a branch to bear him when the ground would no longer suffice. In this respect he could understand the wood elf. Even as Legolas sat to rest against one of the great silver-barked Mallorn that were rare this close to the borders he felt the tree reach for the prince, curious as to what ailed him, _'why did he burn so pale?'_ it had asked and, when the prince had not heard, the Mallorn had groaned in distress and begun to channel some of its own ancient store of power into him, its golden-hued leaves losing some of their lustre as it poured more of itself into the wearied prince.

Haldir felt almost as distressed as the Mallorn for they were one, the elves and the Mallorn, both were immortal, both ultimately belonged in the west, and once grown both remained relatively unchanged while the world around them did not. There was great sadness beneath the breathtaking beauty of the Mallorn, for one day they knew that their beloved elves would leave this land and leave them behind, for no matter how ancient and wise the trees were, they had not the Huorns' ability to uproot themselves and move from place to place as they pleased.

The Marchwarden sighed and looked to the lightening sky, noting how the birds welcomed the coming dawn, eager to go about their business. He had deliberately taken his time, allowing the prince a good hour to rest while he in turn picked through his problems, but now it was time to move. He would feel much better after they had passed the outer flets and knew that, should they need it, help was at hand.

Meanwhile Legolas was overjoyed to have Merry back in his arms, but when Merry continued to stare up at him in distress he feared that his wound had been jostled. Then to his surprise he felt drops of moisture trailing lightly down his own cheeks and understood that was what must have caught Merry's attention as the hobbit's scared and confused gaze stared into the elf's tear laden eyes.

Legolas felt the predawn breeze chill the tear tracks on his face and realised with shame that he had frightened Merry with tears he did not know he shed. "My apologies _penneth_, I meant not to scare you, I am just overjoyed to see you awake and alert once more".

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"Put up your sword, young perian," spoke a light, silvery voice that could not quite conceal its amusement. "We shall not harm you." The elf followed his voice down from the tree and landed lightly just behind Pippin. "We have had rumours of your journey, for the messengers of Elrond passed by Lórien on their way home up the Dimrill Stair. But we had not heard of halflings for many a long year and did not know that any yet dwelt in Middle-earth. But you do not look evil, little one and you have naught to fear from us."

The elf was joined by two others who seemed to appear out of nowhere. All were exceedingly fair and their long straight hair hung elegantly about their shoulders, reaching down to their waists. But fair though they were, each, like Legolas, was armed with a tall bow and quiver of arrows and two long knives, elegantly carved about the handle but sharp and deadly to any foe. "A halfling! Indeed a charming little creature for all you seem so travel worn." The newcomer had the same lilting half mocking tone as the first, so that one could not be sure if he were sincere or teasing. "My apologies for the manners of my brothers, my name is Draenog and this is Wiwer and Llygodyn. Welcome to the realm of Lothlórien."

It took Boromir by surprise, this unexpected encounter with elves and their obvious weapons at the ready. He was still soaked to the skin from their river crossing and more than a little tired. He'd not been paying as close attention to the area about them as he should have been and chided himself for the stupidity of it all.

Boromir stood to his fullest, consciously concealing Gimli a bit behind him. It would not do for these strangers to see to what extent he and his companions were handicapped. He'd heard little of elves before his father sent him to meet with the Council at Rivendell. What he'd learned since came mostly from his travels with the Fellowship. The not always quiet bickering between Legolas and Gimli added weight to the knowledge there was no love lost between elves and dwarves. He remembered the story Meriadoc told one night of Bilbo rescuing Gimli's kin from Legolas' father's underground prison. Neither Legolas nor Gimli had smiled at its retelling and that particular tale was not told again, though Legolas had made an attempt to be less acerbic with Gimli in the days that followed.

Boromir's eyes narrowed a fraction as one of the elves mockingly taunted Peregrin's attempt at defence. Perhaps not all elves were as gracious as Legolas. Certainly these strangers were not to be trusted wholesale with no proof of their good intentions. He was forming a retort as he surreptitiously worked to ease his sword from its binding. They should have a care; little though he may be, the "halfling" was blooded and had proved himself a worthy combatant. Boromir was thrown off by the elf's speed and he found himself turning to catch the eyes of one who stepped around Peregrin to stand right next to him.

"We had heard there were men in this company, but you seem sadly depleted. What has become of Mithrandir?" the one called Wiwer asked with a nod in his direction. But before Boromir's brain could even decipher who Mithrandir was, the same elf rounded on Gimli and fairly spat venom.

"A dwarf! Why do you seek the protection of the Golden Wood? This is not good. We have not had dealings with the dwarves since the Dark Days. You are not permitted in our land. I cannot allow you to pass!"

Gimli gasped and spluttered, reaching for his axe and dropping his crutch in the process.

Boromir's sword never left its sheath. He found he was staring down the shaft of an arrow, the tip not two finger's breadth from his neck.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

As soon as Merry's eyes had found Legolas he understood. The elf, who had always seemed so aloof, so self-contained, perhaps caring of Frodo from duty and his promise to protect him Merry supposed, but otherwise non-committal towards the hobbits, he had given Merry his chance at life. But at what cost to himself?

Merry could feel the renewed strength in his limbs, the slight lessening of the pain in his chest, a constant companion in all his waking moments since he took the blade there, the slight easing in finding each new breath. He could talk at least, although he suspected walking and other serious activities, such as eating, might still be a problem.

The elf who had been carrying him was called Haldir and he had confirmed what Merry already knew, that Legolas had helped him in some way that involved giving part of himself. _'Why would he do that?'_ Merry wondered.

Even as the thought occurred, he had sensed animosity from the elf carrying him. Something in his demeanour told Merry that he resented the intrusion of a mortal and that Legolas had no business bestowing any kind of grace upon one such as he. However, the feeling was transitory, although the hobbit was admonished for gulping the water too fast and the bottle snatched away. Perhaps they lacked clean drinking water. But, even so, he felt considerably more comfortable when the abrupt elf – Haldir, something or other of the Gold Wood or some such place – handed him to Legolas, setting him carefully in the other elf's arms as he sat on the ground to rest.

Merry looked up sadly at Legolas, wondering what had happened exactly that had made Haldir so abrupt with him. Legolas seemed pale, almost transparent and very worn. _'He's somehow made himself ill with trying to make me better,'_ Merry thought. It was not a pleasant feeling, by rights he should have died and Legolas had no need to go sacrificing himself just to save one unimportant hobbit's life.

As Merry gazed up he saw with dismay that Legolas had tears running down his cheeks and tried to reach up to touch the dampness, although he was still too weak, "Legolas? Wha-what have you done? W-was it me? Legolas?"

Legolas studied Merry's face, and felt ashamed that his out-of-control emotions had caused his friend more grief. Sensing the perian's need to be soothed he closed his eyes, shutting out Merry's searching gaze and took a deep breath of the cool, crisp, Lórien air and forced his mind to calm and his body to relax. Merry was alive and they were now well within Lórien's borders and soon would pass the first flets. When he opened his eyes again he realised that at some point his hand, of its own accord, had started to comb through Merry's tightly strung locks and the hobbit seemed to revel in the loving caress as Legolas observed him leaning into his touch.

When he felt himself composed enough to speak without his voice breaking he brought his hand to rest against Merry's warm cheek and waited until the hobbit returned his gaze. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he chose to ignore the first question, _'What have you done?' _as it would only bring Merry more worry and in truth he was still unsure himself exactly what had transpired, and so deemed the question unanswerable, but the second…he would not allow Merry to think that any of this was his fault.

Legolas smiled at the hobbit. He had noticed during their journey together that Merry tended to take a great deal of responsibility upon himself, and often seemed to question whether he had done his best. In that he was much like Aragorn, for in all the years Legolas had known the man he had never grown out of his self-doubt. That the Ranger's lifelong habit of feeling himself accountable for all things might become ingrained in young Merry was not acceptable.

"_Penneth_ I want you to listen to me closely. **_You_** have done nothing wrong, none of what has happened is your fault," he stated firmly, while Rúmil and Orophin spoke softly between themselves to give the two friends the illusion of privacy, though he noted that Orophin was translating what he said into elvish for his brother.

"But Legolas," though the hobbit's eyes brightened they were still dulled by a shadow of doubt, "it is not right, you shouldn't give up any part of you j-just for my sake."

"Merry…" Legolas' voice took on a softer tone as he pulled the hobbit closer, "…never doubt your worth _mellon-nin_, you have been as important on this Quest as Aragorn or Mithrandir or any of us." And before Merry could say anything to the contrary he continued, "who was it that fearlessly attacked a cave troll at Balin's tomb? Who was it that Frodo so often turned to when he sought advice or needed to speak of his fears and doubts? Who was it that always made sure Pippin slept safely between you and Frodo each night, and insisted he had sufficient to eat, gladly sacrificing some of your own rations? And what of the speed with which you learned how to wield a sword? There are not many, my dear friend, that could find such courage to do all that you have and still find the strength to make light of dark matters when all others sink into silence and dread…I, for one, would have been lost without your light."

"I dropped my sword," Merry suddenly remembered his terrible failing. The blunder that had brought all this about. "Boromir said it's the worst thing you can do – and I did it! I'm sorry – I'm so sorry!"

"No Merry, sshhh! It was not your fault, you were outweighed – that troll was too big for you to overcome." Legolas wanted to say more but became aware that Rúmil and Orophin were now openly staring at both of them and felt himself flush under their surprised, searching stare.

Just then he felt a hand firmly grip his shoulder and actually jumped at the touch, for none of his elvish senses had alerted him to the presence of the sturdy Marchwarden and as he glared up into Haldir's frosty eyes, he saw an emotion that he could not label before the Lórien elf carefully veiled his emotions.

Haldir regretted startling the prince as Legolas scowled up at him and the hobbit seemed to shrink back into Legolas' embrace. He looked to his brothers and saw that they had already anticipated his orders as Rúmil took the empty water-skins and disappeared in the direction of a nearby spring, while Orophin shouldered his bow, re-adjusted the strap of his quiver and smoothed down his rumpled tunic. Satisfied, he turned back to the prince and removed his hand.

"We will leave now, if you are rested. Caras Galadhon is still a long march ahead of us," he said simply, not even sure himself why he felt awkward talking to the prince. Even worse Legolas seemed to be aware of this and his fair features creased a little in confusion.

"Brother, is all well?" Orophin asked in Sindarin.

The double meaning was not lost on Haldir and his face softened at his brother's concern; he loved them both dearly for no others would put up with his irritability. His lips curled just a little, barely a smile but it was enough as Orophin relaxed at seeing it. "All is well; I found nothing untoward but will feel more at ease once we pass the first flets."

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"You made noise enough as we tracked you," Wiwer looked disparagingly at Boromir, but nevertheless, lowered his bow, "have you naught to say for yourselves now?" The other two elves smiled at each other, but kept their bows targeted at the party.

Pippin shook his head a little not quite believing his ears when he heard his injured companion denied safe haven. "Do you not know the purpose of our Quest?" The weary hobbit gulped. He realised they were in a tricky situation but he was anxious to avoid direct confrontation, especially if both factions' tempers became frayed. He did not want to say the wrong thing, but felt he should step in before Gimli said something they might all regret later. "Already we have lost Gandalf, our guide, in Moria and have been separated from our companions – we desperately need your protection and help."

"Mithrandir lost? That is grievous news! We know something of your mission, but little detail was brought to us by the messengers of Elrond. All we know is that it is of great import." Wiwer dropped on one knee to better look at Pippin, "are you indeed the halfling of whom the tales were spoken?"

"I am one of four halflings who joined the Fellowship to carry out the Quest." Pippin thought it wise not to say he was the Ring-bearer, or to even mention anything about the Ring, but it might help not to deny it either. "It is very important that we find our companions again, else the mission might fail and all will be lost. Please help us."

Wiwer looked into the sincere green eyes and felt the corners of his mouth turn up slightly. It was hard not to smile at the earnest little face. "You are very worn and weary young perian, and we will gladly welcome you to Lothlórien and extend the protection of the Galadhrim, but a dwarf! I cannot vouch for his passage, or that of a strange and armed human, through the Golden Wood and the Realm of the Lady Galadriel."

Pippin blinked at this offer. He could not accept the protection of the elves and leave good old Boromir and his stalwart friend Gimli behind. But how should he, a mere hobbit, argue with these grand and important elves? They seemed so different from Legolas, but he was used to talking his way around problems and now was no time to falter. "But Gimli is no threat to you or your people," Pippin turned to the dwarf and pointed at his injury, "he has a broken leg and even if he should wish you ill, which I am sure he does not, there is no mischief or harm he could cause you or your kin. Surely you would not turn away an injured traveller?" Pippin saw the tinge of amusement on Wiwer's face and realised that the elf was thawing a little. "And Boromir is the son of the Steward of Gondor, a great prince! He has defended me and my kin on our long journey and has a true and noble heart. Gandalf himself said so."

Wiwer nodded to Draenog and Llygodyn to lower their arrows. Draenog shrugged at his brother, "I think the little one is right, we show too much caution for a lame dwarf and a lone human, I think we should take them to the Lady and let her decide their fates. She may have tidings from Lord Elrond that we know naught of, here on the borders."

Llygodyn nodded his agreement. "We cannot abandon them here, and it would be unjust to slay them, they are not orcs and we know they have a mission of some import."

Pippin drew a deep breath, so far so good, he just hoped Gimli and Boromir would go along with his arguments and not make too much trouble.

Gimli listened to Pippin's prevarications with irritation. The lad had been through so much; why were these arrogant elves pressing him, forcing the little one to think on his feet when he could barely stand?

Gimli did not particularly want to enter Lothlórien. He mistrusted and even feared the Sorceress of the Wood, and knew well the long-standing enmity between elves and dwarves. Yet he was injured, badly, and his companions were exhausted and hungry. But with orcs behind them and no resources among them, he saw no choice but to ask for help from these strange – and far too tall – creatures.

Wiwer smiled at Pippin then stood and turned to his brothers, "I agree, but the dwarf must be blindfolded."

Gimli bristled, all thought of his broken leg fled. "I will most certainly not be!" he roared, nearly toppling in his fury. "How dare you distrust me, **_me_** Gimli son of Gloin, who was selected by the Lord Elrond Halfelven himself to be a member of this Fellowship? What right have you to disregard his decision and pass judgment on me?"

He looked at Pippin's weary face, and at Boromir's that hid, he suspected, irritation as great as his own, and then back at the elves. "This I will not do. And if it means I sit right here and starve on your borders or draw orcs to your people, I shall do so, rather than be treated with such disrespect."

He stood as upright as he could, raising his beard defiantly. "The courtesy of the elves is much exaggerated, I see. Or else they fear a lame dwarf more than the orcs of Moria."

Pippin couldn't believe his ears. After all they had gone through the past couple of days this was not something he had expected. He had thought that to reach the elves was to reach safety.

Pippin knew about the animosity between elves and dwarves of course, having grown up with Bilbo and Frodo's tales, and he had personally witnessed quite a few disagreements between Legolas and Gimli along the trail, but he had failed to consider that the elves of Lothlórien might not welcome his friend with open arms. Maybe it would have been different if Gandalf or Legolas were with them but they weren't, so they would have to work this out without any help.

"Don't be upset Gimli," he urged. "It's not fair that only you should be blindfolded, so I will be blindfolded too, and so will Boromir." He glanced quickly at Boromir hoping that he would go along with that in order to keep Gimli's anger at a manageable level, then he looked up at Wiwer with his most winning smile.

Boromir's ears were deceiving him! Did Peregrin just offer to have them all blindfolded? He looked down at the hobbit, over at the dwarf, over to the elves and back to the hobbit. Yes, the lad had just volunteered them all to submit to being blindfolded and led through unknown territory by unknown people. Elves. Not just people. But elves. He had to resist the urge to rub his eyes and groan. He settled for sighing mightily.

"If you are going to blindfold all of us," Pippin added, "I am afraid that you will have to carry Gimli. I am sure that Boromir will be more than happy to have a rest." He flopped down on the grass and sniffed. "Now that's settled, I don't suppose that you have anything to eat? I can't go another step without food and a bit of rest!" Pippin's stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly. "See how hungry I am," he complained as noisily as his belly. "Even my stomach is grumbling now."

"Please forgive us." Wiwer bent down next to the hobbit and reached into a bag slung around his neck and withdrew a leaf-wrapped package. "Here, this should sustain you for the present."

"Thank you!" Pippin's eyes grew wide as he unwrapped the leaves and found white wafers layered together to make things that looked like large cakes – perhaps something like a three corner pastry or an apple turnover. He bit into one quickly and closed his eyes in bliss at the delicious taste.

With the fingers of his left hand now rubbing the bridge of his nose, Boromir gave in to the situation. You can't fight the logic of a hobbit. Not because it is always sound but because they are so stubbornly tenacious. But he smiled at the sight of the expectant little face looking up at their "hosts" with such a hopeful and guileless expression, and was not in the least surprised when the elf presented food to Pippin. He knew that look. It was a very practiced look. It was amazing just how fast Boromir had learned to read Meriadoc and Peregrin. He wondered how Frodo had put up with them for so many years.

Meriadoc. Dead, for Boromir did not doubt Pippin's perception where Merry was concerned. Frodo. Had he made it to safety? These elves had admitted to never having seen a halfling. But perhaps they still might know of his companions' fates, had some word maybe? A panic seized Boromir as a memory flashed in his head. Merry going down under a blow. The Ring-bearer struggling in a sea of orcs to reach his fallen cousin's side. The Ring had nearly been taken back there in Moria. What might have happened to It since, or to Its bearer? Was all already lost? In a rush he blurted, "Do you know if..." but he stopped himself. It was better if he did not mention Frodo directly. Even though these elves did not know exactly what their Quest was, Boromir trusted very few these days and it would be better to keep silent. He'd feel much better once he laid eyes on the rest of their Fellowship.

With all eyes on him and an unfinished sentence hanging in the air, Boromir had to think fast. To whom should he make his demands and just how far could he go with them? "Draenog," he addressed the elf who had made the introductions, for he assumed this was the eldest brother.

"Forgive us our manners. We are weary beyond reckoning. We have fought orcs and wolves, sustained serious injuries and have travelled with little rest to reach your borders. We seek shelter and relief. Yes, we are part of the group of whom Lord Elrond sent word." He hoped his little exaggeration about fighting the wolves and not just watching them bound on past didn't set off any warnings in the elves' heads or that either of his friends would just happen to find it an appropriate time to remind him he always stressed telling the truth. Holding his arms to his sides with palms slightly out he continued in his best court voice.

"I will go blindfolded," he acknowledged. He added silently, _'If only to move us closer to a place where I might__find some quiet and salvage what little sanity I have left._' "We gladly submit to your request, for we respect your concerns," he continued. "Considering the dangers so close on your doorstep, I agree, it is wise to be cautious. We are of no threat to you, wounded and weary as we are, but who are we, a man, a halfling and a dwarf, you ask." Faramir once told him that when he got rolling Boromir could charm the wool off a sheep. An odd thing to remember just then, he was never too sure if his brother was giving him a compliment or not.

"We are indeed of Mithrandir's Company. It strikes us to our hearts that we have lost our friend and guide in the Mines of Moria. In the heat of the battle we lost track of the others. We know some were gravely wounded, and fear that at least one other of our companions did not survive, to our great sorrow. We hope our numbers have not been diminished to what you see." He looked directly at Wiwer sensing this elf would be the one to sway the other two.

"Do you know of any others who may have reached your borders? We seek our friends and fear their injuries may have delayed them." Boromir intentionally did not give anyone's name or rank and silently willed Peregrin, for once, not to start in on his own genealogy.

Oh, how he wished this all just to be over so that he could immerse himself in a hot bath with a cup of cool wine and the thoughts of a snug, warm bed to follow. If wishes were horses then all men would ride. And they had no horses in their immediate future he knew. He had no choice but to trust to the graciousness of these elves. Elves! Boromir cocked his head just a little to the side and smiled. It was an act of deference that grated on him but he knew it had to be done if they were ever to be allowed to move on and find the others.

Draenog considered the man. He seemed to be calming down from his initial hostility so the least the elf could do was to offer what information he had. "There has been much orc activity in this area of late and, as a consequence, we have had little news from Caras Galadhon, the Realm of The Queen Galadriel. We know nothing of your companions, but, as you are prepared to wear the blindfolds, we will quickly escort you to her."

Boromir was not happy with what Draenog relayed. There was no news of their friends. He was doubly dismayed to hear they intended to insist on the blindfolds. He opened his mouth to voice his concern over the terrain and the difficulty of moving a dwarf with a broken leg but was interrupted by Llygodyn. "Do not fear for your safety. You shall be guided with skill and courtesy and the dwarf, my brother and I will carry between us."

They read minds. Yes, they most surely do. It is the only answer. Though he joked to himself and he knew he'd given away his apprehension by looking with such concern at Gimli, Boromir was still not happy.

Pippin, still munching enthusiastically as only a starved hobbit can, heard with dismay that these elves had no news of Frodo or the others. His heart sank and he sighed, thinking how much better still the cakes would have tasted if the others, if Merry, were there to share them. Merry. He would have liked these cakes. Pippin hiccupped at the thought and the cake fell from his hand. But then a strange warmth came over him that he did not quite understand –it seemed in that moment that Merry himself was bidding him to eat, so that he would be strong enough to face whatever might happen next. Pippin picked up the bit of cake and continued chewing.

"In the meantime, please, there is time for a little rest and you should take some food, we still have far to go," Llygodyn continued. He offered Gimli his arm so that the dwarf would be able to ease himself to the ground. "Perhaps you will allow us to re-bind your wound – we may be able to lessen the pain."

Gimli refused the offered arm out of principle but he would have serious difficulty getting to the ground without aid. He had shifted his weight and resigned himself that he would remain standing when a most ferocious pain shot through his injured leg bringing tears to his eyes. He suddenly feared if he did not sit now, that he would faint and that would be far worse than accepting aid freely given. Gritting back a grunt of pain, he groped for the elf's support and eased his way down.

"Please, will you not sit?" Draenog asked Boromir. "You too must be hungry and there is lembas enough for all. Wiwer?" Draenog looked questioningly at his brother. "You have lembas do you not?"

"I gave it to the halfling." Wiwer turned to where Pippin was popping the last piece of the cakes into his mouth. "There is plenty for..." The elf stopped abruptly, his mouth dropping open in surprise. "Did you eat all that? By Eru! You'll explode!"

Pippin looked up happily licking his fingers. "Yes – it was lovely – have you any more?"

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TO BE CONTINUED

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Notes

**Introducing His Royal Highness Prince Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood**

Greetings and compliments to all Gentle Readers who happen upon this page and especially to you Fairest of all Readers who also Review. It has fallen to my lot in this chapter to offer, on behalf of all the writers, their sincere thanks and deepest appreciation to you for taking the time to read and even to say a few words. They delight in each and every comment, be it an elegant compliment or an ecstatic squee!

So, in deference to their hard work, and although my eyes are veiled and the darkness of mortality looms heavily across my soul, I shall endeavour to answer a few of your comments or to make a fitting observation of my own, while I still have sweet breath in my body.

**_Reasonably crazy_**: I'm so relieved that Merry is okay! _hugs Merry and Pippin_  
**_Legolas_**: Have a care, he is still rather tender there!

**_Lindsay_**: I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU ALMOST KILLED MERRY!  
**_Legolas_**: Fear not, the hobbit is in safe hands – elves make excellent companions and save a fortune in medical bills.

**_Pip4_**: _"hugs Legolas"_ Get better yourself please.  
**_Legolas_**: Ahem – thank you most graciously for the _"hug thing" _– it was extremely interesting. I shall endeavour not to meet an untimely end, but sadly my life is in the hands of the Valar and the Authors! _I fear the latter most!_  
**_Pip4_**: Hopefully Pippin will realize soon that Merry isn't dead.  
**_Legolas_**: Sadly, I believe he has stopped broadcasting on that wavelength for the moment.

**_LOTRFaith: _**I have been reading this for the last few chapters posted and find myself intrigued at this new way of the fellowship breaking...  
**_Legolas_**: Well it's not quite broken – more coming apart at the seams.

**_Freya_**: Now to whoever is so helpfully fielding questions this time, may I humbly suggest that they remind those around Merry that they should bundle him up warmly, as we don't want him catching a chill!  
**_Legolas: _**I beg your pardon – oh you mean me! Fear not fair reader – I have delegated the task to Haldir, as I'm a bit poorly myself just now.

**_domstygerr_**: Thank the Gods for you Legolas.  
**_Legolas: _**Yes please do – could you put in a good word for me and my immortality too while you're there – I'll be simply lost without it.

**_Lindahoyland: _**This was just so heartrending. I love the bond between Pippin and Boromir**_  
Legolas: _**Pippin and Boromir are bonded? And I thought the man was making eyes at me – oh well.

**_Aranna Undomiel_**: And that scene with Merry shaking up a pillow to create snow on earth with his grandmother, is it possible that I read that somewhere before, in a fairytale or something, because it sounds really familiar to me.  
**_Legolas_**: Well you know how it is with Grandmothers always gossiping and making snow with their beds. Actually, Llinos tells me that it was what her Grandma used to tell her when they shook the featherbed, so who knows where Granny Llinos heard it. 

**_Ringmarciel: _**Poor Merry, but we can't have him dying now can we. I hope there's a lot of angst ahead!  
**_Legolas: _**How very astute of you, it would have been foolish to let the small hobbit die, especially as most readers are here for the angst. How much more angst ridden and spectacular if I were to die! No wait a minute – come back you authors! That was just an idle observation – I didn't mean it!

**_FrodoBaggins87_**: Oh...my...gosh...you geniuses deserve every single one of these two hundred sixty-eight reviews, twice over!  
**_Legolas: _**It's all about the authors is it? What about us, the poor characters, filthy, manipulated, some of us losing our immortality, and have you **_seen_** the state of my hair lately?

**_Mae Ari:_**You frightened me beyond my wits when you killed Merry. I just wanted to sit down and sob.  
**_Legolas:_**My sincere apologies Gentle Reader. I shall speak to the authors at once for causing you such distress. Actually Meriadoc knows a good law firm if you think you have a case for compensation.

**_Ica: _**Three cheers for Legolas and his elven CPR.  
**_Legolas:_** Hip, hip hooray! Oh, I suppose that's in rather poor taste…my sincere apologies.  
**_Ica:_** I was worried there for a moment, when he was just clutching Merry and rocking him. But I should have known to have faith in Legolas.**_  
Legolas:_**Indeed, if you can't trust _me _to save the day, who can you trust! What? Who? The others in the Fellowship? Three hobbits, two men and a dwarf? That's just crazy talk!

**_Auntiemeesh_**: I'm quite impressed with Legolas and his snazzy elven CPR.  
**_Legolas:_** I am thinking of writing a book and giving seminars when I get back home. This could be a whole new career for me. Meriadoc says we should go into partnership – be a nice little earner he said, whatever that means.

**_Bubonic Woodchuck:_ **And behold, Meriadoc was revived, and there was much rejoicing.  
**_Legolas:_** I hope that someone will revive _me _soon. I find that channelling ones life essence into another is terribly draining.

**_Anniy:_** Whoa. You are all evil. Pure evil.  
**_Legolas_**: I beg to differ. **_I_** may have given up my immortality, which I think was rather glorious of me. Oh you mean the Authors? I'll tell them.  
**_Anniy:_** In such an excellent story as this, is there any hope for a happy ending?  
**_Legolas:_** Master Samwise says that the best stories don't always have happy endings. But we can only hope.

**_Ziyal:_** What a wonderful chapter! Legolas! I will never forget, what you did for poor Merry!  
**_Legolas: _**It was the least I could do, Mistress Ziyal. What would the others say if I turned up a hobbit short!


	15. Borders Of Sanctuary

The East Gate

Authors The Eastgaters

Cast list  
Frodo – Baylor  
Samwise – Budgielover  
Pippin – Marigold  
Merry – Llinos  
Legolas – Mainframe  
Aragorn – Nilramiel  
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker  
Gimli – Q  
The Wicked Elves – Baylor & Mainframe  
The Not So Wicked Elves - Llinos

Story Editor Llinos  
Beta Marigold

Chapter 15 – The Borders of Sanctuary

It took them less time than Haldir had predicted for them to reach the outer flets. Merry had once again fallen asleep, and was borne in Haldir's arms, but Legolas' strength had held and he even felt a little revived. They were not visible from the ground at all but, as the group moved deeper into the oldest part of the forest where the Mallorn grew more freely, Haldir whistled several times and was answered from above in kind. As Legolas strained his eyes to see into the tall tree, searching for the familiar shape of a flet and failing to detect one, he frowned. Haldir smiled and whispered that they were designed to be hidden from all travellers, even elves, and they moved on, secure in the knowledge that word would be sent on ahead of their arrival.

Over the next hours they fell into an easy pace and Legolas was surprised when Haldir initiated conversation with him and engaged in his brother's banter, it was like watching a completely different elf. But even he had to admit that as their journey's end neared he felt more energised than his poor abused body had any right to.

The woods were painted with a permanent ethereal glow that washed over Legolas' skin and left a tingling sensation in its wake. He realised that this must be the work of the Lady Galadriel and that the stories that he had heard in his father's court were true, Lothlórien felt like no other elven realm he had ever visited before. There was power here and the very leaves on the trees thrummed with it, everything was alive and in complete harmony with the tree elves. The warrior in him acknowledged the high level of skill of the Galadhrim in the trees above them, for he had yet to catch a glimpse or hear a whisper of cloak against leaf, yet he knew they were there.

As a curious sapling reached for the prince and missed, the prince stopped and turned back to caress the bold little birch. Its thin spindly branches shook with excitement as the prince softly spoke, asking it what had excited it so much and laughing as the tree answered that it had never felt a wood elf before and was pleased that the prince was speaking with him. It grumbled that the other trees did not speak to him as much as he would like and considered him much too hasty.

"Legolas! Come along, that one will keep you talking all day!" Orophin called as he doubled back and realised which tree had waylaid the prince.

The sapling shook with annoyance and then whispered its concern, which touched Legolas deeply. It felt the elf was mourning and knew that he had lost not only several dear friends but also part of himself as well. Careful not to jostle Merry, Legolas assured the tree he was in no immediate danger and before he bade the sapling farewell promised that, if his stay allowed it, he would return for a longer visit. He implored the sapling's elder, which stood tall and proud several yards away, covered in lichens and radiating health, to try to find a little more time for the young one. The elder's long suffering sigh caused its branches to sway and snag at Legolas' hair and told the prince that he asked much of the old one but the great tree also sensed the elf's hollowness and was moved in his pity to agree.

"Well what was all that about?" Rúmil asked as Legolas and Orophin caught up to where he and Haldir stood waiting with Merry, who was still fast asleep.

"The young birch was bending our friend's ear," Orophin stated with amusement.

Haldir grinned. "That one is truly the liveliest of the whole forest, I have my suspicions that he's Entish, it's the only explanation for it!"

"He's not that bad, Haldir, just a little garrulous. Some of the trees near my own dwelling are the same, though I'll admit to a lesser extent." Legolas smiled as he remembered the tree that his father and mother had planted on the occasion of his birth. It was an old Greenwood tradition and even after two thousand years the Oak who had grown alongside him was as talkative as the day it realised its voice.

"I still maintain it is part Ent," Haldir grumbled good-naturedly, "In its short life it has held me prisoner with its incessant chatter no less than seven times!"

"Brother! Are we to believe that a mere sapling held the Marchwarden of Lórien captive? I think Rúmil is right, you are losing your touch," Orophin joked, missing Rúmil wince as Haldir levelled him with a glare.

Legolas barely noticed how much time had passed as they climbed higher, Haldir leading them up a steep hill strewn with protruding tree roots, some as thick as he was tall. Haldir beamed as his brothers joined him and as Legolas reached the peak his breath was stolen by his first sight of the elven city.

The city glowed and sparkled a faint blue, and the ancient Mallorn trees were breathtaking in their beauty, majesty and sheer girth, for they were wider than any tree the wood elf had laid eyes on and, as he craned his neck to see their height, he found that even his elven eyes were not keen enough to find their crown's through the pale silver branches which completely eclipsed the sky though, strangely enough, they did not darken the forest. They were huge with intricate archways that grew over countless steps leading up into their loftiness, and everywhere he looked he felt as if his eyes could not take in the beauty fast enough.

Little did he know that the three brothers were watching his reaction with no small measure of amusement and pride. They lived in the Golden Wood and every time they came home the vision of their great timeless city filled them with joy.

"Welcome to Caras Galadhon" Haldir intoned, "Home of the Lord Celeborn and Galadriel, Lady of Light," he finished proudly.

"Merry!" Legolas whispered, his eyes unwilling to leave the tree city before them. He reached out to Haldir, and took Merry into his own embrace. "Merry! Wake up little one, you must see this!"

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With an audible sigh, relief mixed with exasperation, Boromir let his shoulders relax as he watched his little friend make short work of one of the Elven biscuits. He was still staring at Peregrin, who was starting on the second biscuit, when Draenog's voice made him jump. What was it about Elves always popping up at your shoulder before they decided to talk? He needed some sleep. Just a four hour break of worry-free sleep. Was it so much to ask for?

But they needed help. He hated to admit it, but he could not carry Gimli any further at the pace they were making, not without more assistance, yet he hated to ask strangers and not just any strangers, but Strange Elves. He wasn't sure why, but he felt extraordinarily concerned that he try to preserve what little dignity the dwarf had, for he suspected it grieved his friend immensely to be assisted by a clan enemy. Boromir hoped Gimli's recent association with Legolas had smoothed over some of the inbred hatred of Elves enough that they would be able to take advantage of this unlooked for aid. He, himself, was not too keen on taking aid from these three. They were not like Legolas. They had a different feel. Far more removed, if that were possible, from the here and now.

Gimli allowed an elf to assist him to be seated, and in a few moments the dwarf had recovered from his foolish attempt to sit down on his own and was at last fairly comfortable. It was a relief to relax his guard at last. He quickly realised though that there seemed to be a problem and that it involved Pippin.

When Draenog invited him to sit, Boromir sat. With a sigh of relief mixed with exasperation, Boromir let his shoulders relax as he watched his little friend pop the last morsel of the Elven biscuits into his mouth. The elves suddenly seemed worried about the amount that Pippin had eaten, not necessarily because they were short of food, but for some other reason. Obviously they knew absolutely nothing about hobbits. Boromir tried very hard not to laugh.

Now that his leg had eased Gimli paid heed to the conversation. It seemed the lad had eaten something he should not have. Or too much of something. Or all of something. The elves were worriedly conferring with each other in a huddle, glancing occasionally at Pippin, who sat reclining upon the grass with a most satisfied look upon his face. Well whatever it was, Gimli thought it could hardly kill the lad, hobbits could eat amazing quantities of food. Despite his pain he found himself laughing and felt Boromir next to him struggling to contain his own amusement.

Gimli's chuckle drew a glance from the conferring elves. He was remembering a time when the four hobbits, but especially Merry and Pippin, had truly outdone themselves.

It was the day before they were due to leave Imladris. The hobbits had spent the afternoon discussing the impending farewell feast with great enthusiasm and Gimli had been privy to the whole excited discussion as he lay dozing in the sun. The consensus among the hobbits was that they had had a taste of what it was like to be on the march with short commons and the memory was not pleasant. The Quest was likely to be even more of a trial when it came to tightening their belts and Gimli got the impression that the thought of Sauron, evil wizards, orcs and other mortal dangers paled beside the grim thought of only three meals a day.

The cooks had announced their intention to prepare their guests' favourite foods for the feast and the hobbits discussed with great enthusiasm, as well as anticipation, possible menus, the likely number of courses, and accompanying wines, ales and cordials. It was their intention to eat so much that the memory of this feast would last them until they had finished the Quest and could go back to a civilised six meals a day.

The tables that night had groaned with food, and the cooks had truly outdone themselves, even for elvish cooks. Gimli, privy to the hobbits' determination to enjoy this feast to the fullest, kept a curious eye on them in between his own feasting and several times found that he had stopped eating in sheer amazement. He had seen the hobbits at meals before but this was beyond anything he had ever witnessed. Each of them had easily tripled the hearty meal Gimli had eaten, and then started "filling up the corners", a process that had taken the better part of an hour. Gimli was not the only one astonished and he regretted not arranging a few wagers beforehand, he would know better in future.

The only hiccough had come, well several hiccoughs and more besides, when the abundance of alcohol accompanying the feast had failed to abate, even as the courses had grown sweeter and more delicate. Merry and Pippin, in particular, had regarded this onslaught as more of a challenge than a courtesy and had set to with a vengeance.

Frodo had wisely retired early and Sam had withdrawn gracefully when the port had been passed to the left, a custom the gardener observed, "for them as knows their wines and spirits and not for the likes o' Samwise Gamgee!" Meriadoc and Peregrin were, however, in their element. Quips and ribald comments flew back and forth and the more inebriated they became, the more the elves were amused by their clowning around and ready wit – and drunken hobbits love nothing better than an audience!

They had finally staggered off to bed, leaning one against the other, an obviously timeworn and practised ability, apparently none the worse for their night of indulgence.

Gimli however had been accommodated in the room next door to the hobbits and the following morning he had been more than a little amused at the retribution they faced from their own bodies. Merry had obviously been sick for a long time, whilst Pippin's groans and piteous crying indicated an aching belly as well as a sore head.

These noises were followed by the sound of much splashing water, gargling, gulping, burping and thumping, then water once more. Gimli, curiosity getting the better of his manners, was eventually driven to spy on the little ones to see what the strange noises might be. He bent down and put his eye to the keyhole in their door but, no sooner had he positioned himself, than the door opened and Merry and Pippin, both dressed and looking chipper and rosy stood there looking down at him in amazement.

"What are you doing Gimli?" Pippin had asked in surprise and crouched down next to him to gaze at the keyhole himself. "Is there something interesting here?"

"Hrrm… no, not at all," Gimli stood up, flustered and embarrassed. "I was just checking your door… for erumm… woodworm… you can't be too careful."

"No of course not," Merry agreed with a smile, "Now, where's breakfast?"

Gimli had kicked himself several times since then. Why did he not ask the hobbits to reveal their magical cure for overindulgence? There were times when he could use such information. Eventually he had asked Gandalf.

"Hobbits? Hangovers?" The Wizard had laughed long and loud. "Oh there's no miracle cure, don't let their size fool you Gimli, they have stomachs like cast iron cauldrons. They get sick and all is mended, then they start again."

"Hmmp!" Gimli was more than a little surprised, "Rascals! At least when I overfill my cup I suffer for it – there's no justice."

"Very true my friend," Gandalf laughed, "Very true."

Gimli shook his head as the thought of Gandalf wafted hazily through his pain, a greater pain and one not to dwell upon at the moment.

One of the Lothlórien elves knelt beside Gimli, what was his name? Ah, yes, Llygodyn. "May we, Master Dwarf, re-dress your leg? We have salves that may ease the pain temporarily."

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Merry blearily opened his eyes as Legolas whispered to him to awaken. Drowsily he remembered the kind words with which the elf had lulled him to sleep and then he recalled that Legolas had done something – what he was not sure – but it seemed as if he had given a part of his own being to Merry to let him live.

Merry was not sure how he knew this, but felt as if someone he trusted had told him so. His Grandmamma Gilda! That's who it was. As he fell into wakefulness he heard her words echo in his memory, "Mark the elf well, Merry my lamb, my sweeting. He gives you part of himself and now you owe him much – your life."

"I will Grandmamma, I promise." Merry mouthed the words as he looked up at Legolas, his eyes now shining and filled with love for his friend. "Legolas? …for wh-what you d-did. I will rep-pay you w-when I a-am b-better."

As the words left Merry's lips he realised that he was far from completely recovered. The horrendous pain in his chest had returned with a throbbing vengeance and his whole body felt aching and sick. He could feel his body temperature was much too high and his lips and mouth were painfully dry.

But Legolas was urging him to look at something, so he turned his head in the direction of the elf's gaze and beheld a sight more wondrous than any he had yet seen in his whole life. The golden trees that lay before them were beyond beautiful, they glimmered and sparkled in the morning light, almost as if they would outdo the Sun herself. Although the leaves shimmered with pure radiance, the colours danced and changed, leaping from excited reds and yellows to tumble into peaceful greens and blues but still emanated exotic indigo or violet. All these colours then fused into a royal shade of purple and gold which lingered long on the mind, entwining itself into the memory of the beholder – a delightful and precious thought, that would stay forever.

Merry gasped in wonder, his thirst forgotten for a moment as his soul was captured by the sheer splendour of the sight. He gazed and gazed until at last a living voice fell into his consciousness.

"Do you thirst still little perian?" Haldir looked down at the hobbit still wrapped in Legolas's arms. The creature, without realising it, worked his parched tongue around his mouth and lips obviously searching for moisture.

"Yes pl-please, S-sir," Merry stuttered the words, spitting them out with effort as his body and voice betrayed him once more.

Haldir rationed him this time by pouring a little water into his hand and, lifting Merry's head from behind, fed him the liquid very slowly.

Merry drank frantically, although Haldir had tried to slow him and was forced to fill his hand again to let the hobbit have more.

"You may have all you want little perian – Merry," Haldir managed a smile as he suddenly recalled the hobbit's name, "Just drink slowly or you will be sick and since Legolas is carrying you, he will probably receive full benefit of that."

"I- I'm sorry Sir," Merry trembled with pain. The act of swallowing, although necessary, had aggravated his wound once more. "I… I'm very thirsty, hurting and… and…" Merry fell silent once more. His whole body was betraying him, and in such fine company too. But he just wanted to be rid of the persistent pain, to lie down and be still and, more than anything, to find Pippin.

Two large tears ran from his eyes as he thought of his little cousin again and knew that he needed him now more than he had ever needed him in his whole life before. Merry sniffed a little as a sob caught in his throat, "Pippin?" he asked, looking hopefully up at Legolas.

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Vanaloth and Gayadur confidently led the three remaining members of the Company into the Golden Wood. Over the Nimrodel and further into the forest they went. As the golden roof closed over their heads, the three travellers felt their breathing ease and their muscles relax. Weary and heartbroken though they were, they could not help but feel great relief and joy at finally coming to a safe haven and to Aragorn it was even more than that, though he said nothing.

Nearly forty years ago he had been on his way back to Rivendell for a much-needed rest and on his journey had come to the borders of Lórien. Galadriel had clothed him in fine garments, and he had taken his ease for a time, walking through the clearings and among the great trees. He did not know it, but Arwen was there also, visiting the Lord and Lady, her mother's parents, and when she had seen him walking towards her, grown into a man that looked more a Lord of the Elves, she had made her choice. Long had they been parted, but they spent a season together and, if possible, their love grew. Before Aragorn departed he and Arwen went together to Cerin Amroth and there they plighted their troth. Arwen's love had kept hope alive in his heart for many years and, even now, in the midst of sorrow and grief, he felt delight that he was once again come to this place.

For Frodo, his joy was shot through with piercings of slicing pain. If only he could have come here with Gandalf and his cousins at his side! This land was different from Rivendell in so many ways, yet it had the unmistakable feeling of a land inhabited by elves, and it made him remember Imladris with longing.

He recalled an afternoon spent on the terrace outside Bilbo's rooms. Frodo had woken from a nap and walked to the doorway and looking out at the porch, the sound of waterfalls in his ears. Bilbo was smoking a pipe with Merry and absorbing every bit of information about the happenings in the Shire that Merry could relate, which was a lot – Merry noticed nearly everything and forgot almost nothing.

Sam was near at hand, listening and providing a small detail every now and then as he idly whittled on a piece of wood. Pippin was just off the porch, foraging about on the ground near a grove of trees. Frodo spied several horse chestnuts in one grubby hand and surmised that the tweenager was looking for ammunition to play conkers with. Gandalf was seated farther down on the terrace, smoking his own pipe. He was pointing out likely rummaging spots for Pippin and providing a series of dry responses to the tweenager's constant chatter. Frodo had watched them all, unobserved in the doorway, and had felt a contentment that could only come from being surrounded by those he loved most dearly.

Frodo had recovered from deep grief before in his life. He had thought for many years that the wound left by his parents' deaths would hurt and bleed for all his days, but it had healed, though it left a harsh scar. He had fallen in love as a tweenager, and then lost that love; he had thought that wound would fester and turn bitter, but it too had healed, in time. Bilbo's leaving had brought on a new kind of grief, more like an ache in his chest that would come and go at will, but that pain was tempered by love, good memories and hope.

The pain he felt now at Gandalf's loss he thought might in time turn to this last type of grief, and be able to be borne. But the pain from losing Merry and Pippin was more akin to what he had felt when his parents had died, cutting deep, to the marrow, and nearly crippling in its agony. Perhaps, he thought as he walked under leaves of gold, this was a shade of what losing a child felt like.

He had held Merry in the first hour of his life and, when the baby had smiled at him, he had asked Cousin Esmie, not knowing the infant's name, if this would be a merry baby. Merry had taken his first steps into Frodo's arms. He had taught the lad to climb trees, to swim, to pilfer from the pantry. He had watched as this smart, curious, insightful lad had grown into a generous, compassionate, determined hobbit. They had lived the first years of Merry's life as brothers and later had also become the dearest of friends.

When Pippin had been the tiniest of babies, he had slept curled up on Frodo's chest, secure in the knowledge that he had already succeeded in wrapping his elder cousin around his little finger. Frodo had taught Pippin to read in the long months following a winter illness and had woven a hundred tales of adventure and bravery to amuse the lad. He had stood over Pippin's bed when they had feared all was lost for the lad and seen that bright spirit fight its way back to life. He had soothed dozens of tweenaged growing pains, and discreetly set right more than one mishap that would have turned the Thain's hair even greyer had he learned of them.

Yet even through Frodo's grief, a small nugget of hope was growing. He dared not yet nurture it, but he could not banish it, either. _Perhaps_, it whispered. _Perhaps, even yet._

Frodo took a deep breath and looked around, realizing they had stopped. Before them was another stream, and no visible way to cross it. On the other side, elves were emerging as if they had stepped from the trees themselves. They secured three ropes to trees, then tossed them across to Vanaloth and Gayadur, who tied them to trees on the opposite side of the stream, thus creating what the elves seemed to believe was a passable bridge, one rope for the feet, one at hobbit waist-level and one at hobbit shoulder-level. Gayadur stepped lightly, easily across and was greeted by the elves on the far side.

Vanaloth turned to Frodo with shining eyes, love for his homeland apparent in his face. "Come, Master Baggins," he said. "Enter Lórien."

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Legolas's earlier joy and peace instilled by the magical splendour of Caras Galadhon vanished under the weight of Merry's tears of pain, his lower lip wobbling as he stoically tried to retain some semblance of control.

"Soon, Merry. It is said that the Lord and Lady of this realm know many things, we will ask them when we meet, but for my part I believe you will be reunited with Pippin soon." Legolas unconsciously began to comb through Merry slightly dampened curls as he spoke and was pleased when the hobbit's brow smoothed and he blinked heavily, though the elf noted with a frown that Merry's small hands fisted tightly in his tunic and clenched at every movement that Legolas made. But the little one made no complaint or mention of his pain though it was clear for all to see his wound was grieving him again.

"The Lady more than likely already knows of your need, Merry," Haldir said whilst encouraging them all to continue. The perian had suffered much, and Haldir was anxious to bring Merry to be healed.

At Merry's puzzled expression he simply smiled mysteriously and began to lead them toward the largest of the Mallorn trees. At its base sparkled a beautifully crafted open spiral stairway and it was to this that Haldir led them.

Legolas was silent as he ascended the great stair but as the steps narrowed and grew steeper in places Legolas heard someone breathing heavily and was shocked to realise that the terrible gasping sounds of laboured breathing were coming from himself. To a mortal they would barely be noticed but to an elf they were as a wave dashing rock against a cliff face. He felt cool fingers press soothingly against his heated brow and offer strength, and dimly he registered that Rúmil had moved up behind him. He shook his head lightly, silently dislodging the Lórien elf's offer and threw him a smile before readjusting Merry and quickening his pace.

Haldir's own pace was conspicuously slow but Legolas was grateful, though he begrudged its necessity, his body's betrayal forced his thoughts inward and he felt a cold sweat break out as he mulled over the possibility that he might now be mortal. He knew nothing of how mortals lived, save his friend Estel, he had mainly spent his life surrounded by his own kind, and the prospect that he may now wither and die frightened him more than he thought it would. Mortals burned so brightly for the handful of years that they were gifted, they achieved much, raising families, building realms yet it seemed to the young prince that just as they began to understand what it was to truly live they were gone, burnt out by their fast pace and time's cruel hand, leaving nothing but a handful of memories in a few of their friends whose lives they had touched and their children, as evidence that they had ever existed at all.

His step faltered as he realised that he may not have a home and family to return to should he survive this Quest. Mirkwood's King, his beloved father, might now have no son and heir and it grieved him to think of his father left alone to rule. Would he feel out of place among his friends and family if he were mortal? He decided that if it were so, he would not remain in Mirkwood, he would not allow his father to watch him slowly rot: his golden locks turn to winter grey, his skin wrinkle, his muscles loosen and sag, eyes, that once reflected a thousand bright summer days, fade as sight dimmed and his body piece by piece fail him.

No! For that would take them both to the Halls of Mandos.

At that moment Merry felt very heavy in his arms, they were almost at the top platform now and none too soon for Legolas as he was forced to shift Merry's weight again. It was not that the hobbit grew heavier but as Legolas' thoughts turned to the grief that he may have inadvertently brought to his father and people, it sapped the last of his so recently restored strength. He felt so much older than his two and a half thousand years.

"We are here," Orophin whispered into his ear as he placed a steadying hand on the small of Legolas' back, steering him away from the rail-less edge of the stairs that he had unconsciously wandered too near for Orophin's peace of mind, and back towards the sturdy trunk.

Haldir led them into a huge open flet, the like of which he could never have imagined. It seemed steeped in perpetual night and the stars flickered through the branches to his right, a circular section in the centre of the floor was missing and through it, though by right he should have seen the smooth silver trunk of the tree and the seemingly endless stairway they had just climbed, all he saw were more stars set against a deep tranquil night sky.

All of this he observed in seconds as Haldir led them up a few more steps and bowed low from the waist while his hand moved to touch his brow and heart before he straightened and took a place to one side of yet another stairway that disappeared into a fog of pale blue light. Rúmil and Orophin stepped away from the prince and perian to repeat their brother's actions and took their place at his side leaving Legolas standing at the foot of the stairway, trembling from fatigue and nervousness.

Slowly he became aware that the light from the top of the stairway was growing stronger and as he squinted, instinctively hugging Merry closer to him, he could just make out two figures descending. The light seemed a part of them for it clung to their bodies longer than it should have and it was not until the two had come to rest three steps up from the awestruck Legolas did the light dissipate enough for him to make out the features for the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien.

The Lord Celeborn stood only two inches taller than his wife, his face lit with piercing dark blue eyes that seemed black as they stared intently back at him. Thick dark brows, soft cheek bones and a strong jaw line were framed by silver-blond hair that fell past his broad shoulders and was complimented well by the high, open-necked silken blue tunic he wore. Slender hips were belted with a thick darker toned sash overlaid with mithril cord.

Legolas' own father was considered intimidating so the full impact was somewhat lessened on Mirkwood's prince but the power that rolled off the Doriath elf was somehow different. Celeborn was old – very old and Legolas bowed low before him, unable to offer him a proper greeting with Merry huddled in his arms. When he rose he was relieved to note a small smile pulled at Celeborn's lips as he inclined his head in turn.

Galadriel was like no elf he had ever seen before. Again he felt the unearthly power that only the Eldar could exude, but unlike Celeborn's, Galadriel's power was almost smothering and he gasped in surprise as he was struck, his breath stolen in that unguarded moment. Her face was very fair and delicately shaped, arched pale brows framed ocean deep eyes that swept through his very soul in the first split second they locked with his own, a small nose led to generous lips and a cascade of hip length wavy golden hair, that was rare in the first born. Narrow shoulders tapered to a slim, belted waist. She wore a shoulder hugging gown that seemed to possess a light of its very own, for even when completely still its many intricate weavings winked and sparkled at him and made it hard to concentrate.

"Now do I understand why they name you Lady of Light," Legolas silently mused, then flushed as her tinkling laughter filled the room telling him that his unguarded thoughts had easily been received.

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TO BE CONTINUED

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Notes

Hi Everyone – It's me Meriadoc the Magnificent _(sic)_ back in the Chairman's Chair. I'm still a little woozy, from my appalling wound, but I'm being splendidly brave and I'll do my best to answer your comments and queries, with a little help from my friends, as appropriate.

**_moi:_** Are you ever going to update? Please do sometime soon!**_  
Merry: _**No – not ever, never, nohow! Oh all right then**_.  
_**  
**_who knows: _**This is a great story! PLEASE update soon!**_  
Merry: _**Thank you – see above

**_Analey: _**This story is incredible! Aw, Pippin, you deserve that food! Poor Merry...Can't wait for more!**_  
Merry: _**You mean it's incredible how much Pippin can eat? Well I'd agree with you there.  
**_  
domstygerr: _**Once again hats off to Llinos and Marigold for their fantastic work on the greatest story on the net! Love to all the writers :)**_  
Merry_**: Steady on! Don't go telling the writers things to make them think they are more magnificent than I! (Which of course they are not!)  
**_  
Latanya Kassidy: _**lol! Pip ate all the food!**_  
Merry:_** So what's new?

**_Hyperactive Forever: _**YAY FOR HELPFUL ELFSES OF LOTHLORIEN! they deserve lots of cookies, yes they do!**_  
Merry:_** Yes they do, but sadly, Pippin seems to have eaten them all.

**_my-fool-of-a-took: _**ah I'm exceptionally proud of all hobbits this chapter.**_  
Merry:_** Well at least our endeavours have not been in vain.

**_Aranna Undomiel: _**Oh and me being as curious as I am, I did some research about the pillow-shaking-snow-making-granny and I found it is a fairy tale from the Grimm-brothers, called Mother Holle. And there the pillow-shaking-snow-making-granny is described. Don't know if Llinos granny got it from them, but just felt the need to share it, so relieved at finding it...LOL**_  
Merry:_** I think many of your fairy tales have been echoed in our hobbit culture, whether via Llinos's Granny or old tales that are general folklore. I suspect this one may be a little of each – it's very sweet though. Llinos also has a Yuletide dragon called Thluggul, who brings presents to the hobbit children at Yule. When he leaves the mountain on his journey to the Shire, he flaps his wings and sometimes it blows the snow right off the mountain top to cover the Shire in a white blanket.

**_lindahoyland: _**I loved the way Sam thinks he is not good enough to have his pack carried, he is so wrong!**_  
Sam:_** Um begging your pardon Mr Merry, but I'll field this one if I may? It is not proper and fitting for a humble gardener to have his work done by the Gentry, and thass what I reckons the elves to be, just as sure as if they'd been related to the Thain or the Mayor theirselves! I'm good at what I does right enough, but I still knows my place.

**_storyfish: _**dare I believe that the Fellowship's finally safe, or do you have yet another hair-curling plot twist in store for us? As much as I enjoy seeing our beloved characters safe, I'm enjoying this story too much for it to end. So bring on the orcs! evil grin**_  
Merry: _**Well that would be telling, but perhaps if I say there are still several chapters to go that won't spoil the surprises too much. (and yes – there will be orcs!)

**_Lord of Warriors: _**C'mon! A little more answers from Aragorn plz! The only time he answers questions is in ch. 7! Then again, he is a little busy, NOT! Man! He barley is used in the story! Too much Merry and Pippin (Pippin is my cat's name also). By the way, tell the authors to put more Aragorn in the story!**_  
Aragorn: _**If I may answer Meriadoc. I'm terribly sorry if I have been neglecting my celebrity duties as the main star of this epic, but I'm afraid I got called away to another story in a galaxy far… Oh no sorry, not that one. But I (or at least my writer) was a little tied up with affairs in the real world. I will however be available again in the next chapter – look forward to seeing you then.  
**_Merry: _**I'm sorry,but what you are saying makes no sense at all. How could there possibly be too much Merry and Pippin in a story?

**_dreamflower: _**I especially love Pippin's encounter with the elves! **_  
Merry_**: I'm not so sure that the elves enjoyed Pip's encounter with them – or their lembas.

**_FrodoBaggins87: _**my apologies, Legolas, for forgetting to mention your graciousness and nobility in saving Merry's life. and i just read a fic where legolas cut off locks of his own hair to braid into charmed braclets for three hobbits gasp.**_  
Legolas_**: If I may just take the chair – Madam FB87, I have to say that giving up my immortality is one thing and I was happy to make the offer, but I think cutting my hair off is taking self-sacrifice a little too far!  
**_  
Ica: _**To the Authours: could we PLEASE get some reuniting happening here? Having to watch all the members of the fellowship go through so much angst and worry is just killing me!**_  
Merry: _**Yes, they are most inconsiderate with their lethargy – a hobbit could die out here before they update!

**_smalldiver: _**But does this mean that Boromir and Gimli don't get anything to eat? And I noticed that there were 'wicked elves' mentioned at the top of the page. Does this mean that they a group will meet up with wicked elves? Or have they already? Or am I just being paranoid?**_  
Legolas_**: Once again we characters have to apologise to an innocent reader for the behaviour of the authors – _sigh_! I regret the "wicked elves" epithet was an in-joke on their part and bears no relation to the story at all. There are, of course, no wicked elves – unless you mean in the sense – that we're so cool we're "**_wicked_**"!

**_Lanncera: _**You made me smile, just then! It's funny that even in the midst of all this angst hobbits will be hobbits. But I do hope that Legolas and Merry will be well soon-perhaps courtesy of the 'arrogant' elves?**_  
Legolas_**: Ah me! I am discovered! Apparently we do have **_arrogant_** elves, but then, we have much to be arrogant about!

**_Earelwen: _**Oh thank you Legolas for saving my Merry! I will never forget it and my esteem for you has risen a million times over so I am seriously running out of room to store it in.  
**_Legolas_**: Do not fret dear lady! I shall hire a Self-Storage Unit in which you may keep your esteem for me, so that none may be lost or wasted.  
**_Earelwen:_** I love Pippin feeling Merry telling him to eat.  
**_Merry: _**Yes, normally I would not have to do that – Pippin + food: result - full Pippin.  
**_  
TXMedic: _**Whe! A new chapter! Ah, life is good. Let's hope Pippin doesn't explode from eating too much lembas. lol**_  
Merry: _**Hmm… It's not looking good at the moment – I'd be ready to take cover if I were you.  
**_  
Alis world: _**On a day like today(basically wet and cold and generally miserable) your story and question and answer session at the end are just what the doctor ordered or should I say elf? I cannot wait for the next chapter. Hope all get well again soon(but not too soon)and can not wait to find out if Legolas has given up his immortality, I do get a little fed up with the smug look on Arwen's face as she thinks only she can. More soon please**_  
Legolas: _**Perhaps if Aragorn had asked **_me_** to give up **_my_** immortality for him instead of expecting Arwen to do it, we could have killed two birds with one stone – but no one asked me!

**_pipinheart: _**Merry seems better, but Legolas seems as though his strength is fading.  
Pippin thinks Merry is dead, and they have encountered elves that intentions may or may not be good... Frodo and Sam, are giving up their packs to elves, Sam is so reluctant...**_  
Merry: _**If it's not us hobbits causing trouble, it's the flipping elves! Sometimes I feel sorry for you poor readers.

**_auntiemeesh: _**So now it's time to start worrying about Legolas. I do hope he hasn't permanently diminished himself in his efforts to save Merry. And I hope that somewhere along the line Haldir settles down enough to understand why Legolas did what he did.**_  
Legolas_**: Poor dear Haldir, making all this fuss about mortality – little does he know what awaits him if he should step into the filmverse! Take my advice Haldir, stay in the book!

**_Mae Ari: _**I cannot fathom how hobbits manage to eat so much lembas... surely their stomachs can't have that much room in their bellies?**_  
Merry_**: Actually, we have hollow legs and feet – that's why our footsies are insulated so well – to keep our dinners warm!  
**_  
LOTRFaith: _**Please post soon! I hope to find out just what happened to Legolas. And hopefully a few of the fellowship will be rejoined in Lothlórien. Erm.. Right?**_  
Merry: _**Well we have to keep you in suspenders a little longer (I like suspenders you see) and I'm hoping all the remaining Fellowship will be together in Lothlórien soon – after all, we have to get back to the original storyline, or the Professor will never forgive us.

**_That's it for this time – see you all again really soon! _**

**_Yours truly,_**

**_Meriadoc the Magnificent_**


	16. Rescue and Reunions

**The East Gate**

**Authors The Eastgaters**

Cast list  
Frodo – Baylor  
Samwise – Budgielover  
Pippin – Marigold  
Merry – Llinos  
Legolas – Mainframe  
Aragorn – Nilramiel  
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker  
Gimli – Q

**Story Editor Llinos  
Beta Marigold**

**CHAPTER 16 – Rescue and Reunions**

Merry was confused and afraid. Legolas had carried him, at the direction of the other elves, to the top of a high staircase that wound around a great tree. It was unguarded on its steep side, and the terrified hobbit clung more tightly than ever to the elf's tunic and squeezed his eyes shut. But when the ascent finally stopped and Merry felt all movement stilled, he peeped out from Legolas's arms only to be shocked once more, but this time with awe as well as fear.

He felt Legolas make a bow to the strange light and then heard him say something – something about a Lady and a name. But then his ears were greeted with a sound that slowed his rapid heartbeat to a reasonable pace and stilled its terror with a calm soothing lilt. It was as the sound of summer's day laughter when the wind chases the flurries of butterflies across a wheat-filled meadow or when the first autumn leaves patter to the forest floor, carpeting the glades with gold and red riches. A laugh filled with silver Yuletide bells that jingle upon the trotting pony traps, hastily fitted with runners to glide, swishing through the early snowfall, or like the call of the springtime blackbird joyously returning to his old haunts at the start of another sweet year. All these thoughts washed over Merry as if the laughter knew his pain and was soothing his inner being with a cool fresh hand that could cure the hurts of others, if not her own.

She spoke, her voice now sad and filled with concern. "Let me see the perian, he is grievously wounded." She paused. "Legolas I know you have given much to save him, but you must let us take him now. Do not be concerned, I promise you have nothing to fear."

Merry felt, rather than saw, the light move closer to them and then he finally looked up and gazed upon the Lady's face. His jaw dropped open and he gave a small gasp and then a slight whimper as the wound was jolted with his own movement.

She reached out and touched his face, gently, running the back of her fingers down his cheek. "I know you hurt Meriadoc, it will soon be better." Merry sighed a little and relaxed at the touch.

Galadriel beckoned with her eyes to Haldir who stood waiting behind Legolas and his burden. "Come Haldir, take the perian to the healers."

The elf stepped forward and began to lift Merry back into his arms. Merry clung tightly to Legolas, anxious not to be carried back down those terrifying stairs. To have climbed up under his own steam would have been bad enough, for any hobbit, but to be carried up that precipitous staircase was more than alarming and he did not want a repeat performance, especially as the thought of descending the stairs was even more frightening to the injured hobbit. "P-please," Merry managed to say at last, "don't carry me d-down, I c-can walk now."

"No Merry," Haldir managed to unclasp Merry's fingers from Legolas's tunic. "You are not strong enough, you will fall."

"Set him down." Galadriel said gently, "and take him by the hand." She knew that Merry would not be able to walk, but she also felt his terror at the thought of the journey down and would not willingly force that upon him. "They did not understand Meriadoc." She stroked Merry's forehead gently as Haldir lowered him onto his feet. "To an elf the thought of being afraid of heights, especially within a tree, is a strange idea, but I know you fear it greatly."

Merry wobbled predictably and did not keep his balance for more than a couple of fleeting seconds. Haldir did not let him fall though and, holding him by both hands, gently lowered him to the ground at the Lady's feet.

Merry looked up pleadingly at Legolas, he felt quite foolish in front of these majestic and important elves and very small and helpless. But before his friend could react to help him, Rúmil and Orophin had stepped forward, following a wordless command from Galadriel, and supported Merry on both sides so that his feet, although not his weight, rested upon the ground.

"Meriadoc Brandybuck," she said without trace of humour or tease. "Welcome to the Realm of Lothlórien. You are now under the protection of the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Please allow us to tend to your hurts, and no…" The Lady lifted up her hand to stay any objections. "…no one will carry you back down the stairs. You will stay up here, in chambers close by – do not fear, it is quite safe."

Merry gulped, trying to compose his thoughts, which the beautiful elven lady seemed to know even before he did. "Th-thank you Milady, I am very grateful. But h-how did you…"

"Do not worry about things that do not matter Meriadoc," Galadriel smiled sadly now, "You have troubles enough in your head." She lifted his chin now and looked directly into the sad blue-grey eyes and suddenly Merry heard her speak directly into his head, or so it seemed, _'Do not fear for your kin any longer, they are safe and will join you soon.'_

Galadriel touched Merry's cheek once more with the back of her fingers and he was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to sleep. His eyelids felt like great weights and he could no longer keep them open and they drooped and closed. As his consciousness faded away Merry felt himself lifted again, but this time he made no objection. Everything felt right and he was no longer afraid, he even felt certain he would soon see Frodo and good old Sam again and hopefully Pippin and that was what mattered most to him.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Standing slightly behind his master, Sam regarded the improvised bridge with apprehension. Practical, he had to admit, looking at the twin set of swaying ropes. It would be very difficult to cross without help from the other side, making Sam wonder how Gandalf had planned it. Did the old wizard have some signal to alert the Lothlórien Elves that the Fellowship had arrived? He would never know, now.

When Gayadur stepped across, Sam's face went white. The Elf did not walk on the lower rope; steadying himself with a hand on the upper – he sprang lightly to the upper rope and walked along it as does a travelling player at a summer fair. Gayadur walked along the rope as confidently as Sam himself would meander up The Hill to Bag End, without hesitation, and without even a glance at the slender, swaying line. On the far side, he leaped gracefully to the ground and was surrounded by his kin. Sam closed his eyes and felt cold, fear-birthed perspiration blossom on his brow.

No wonder these fair Elven Folk had insisted on carrying his pack for him. He'd topple over like a turtle with that weight on his back. He couldn't possibly do this. He'd … he'd go on down the river; it must narrow somewhere where he could pick his way across. Sam peered downstream but saw no narrowing of the waters. He turned around and stared hopefully upstream – perhaps somewhere there was a log across the water? He could walk over on a log. Or get down and inch over it like a caterpillar. Sam's mouth had dropped open to suggest this, when movement at the edge of his vision caught his eye. Distracted, he stilled his tongue and stared into the trees.

Luminescent moon-like orbs shown from the shadows of the forest, small but almost perfectly round and filled with malice. Sam stared straight into them, shocked into silence. Even here, even here that nasty slinker had followed them. If Aragorn and the Elves weren't here, no doubt Gollum would already have been upon them. Even as he stared, the eyes narrowed and a flame of pure hatred sparked in their depths. Then they were gone.

Sam had taken an initial step towards where the eyes had been, his hand on his sword, when Vanaloth's quiet voice halted him. "Master Samwise," came the light, clear voice, "attend us, please." Turning back, Sam saw the Elf also looking into the forest, those clear eyes scanning the shadows. Vanaloth's gaze dropped to Sam and the Elf shook his head almost imperceptibly. "You are in our care, now. Please, Gayadur and I are under instructions to bring your party to our Lady as soon as we may. My people will attend to … nuisances. Do not concern yourself."

"Yes, sir." Sam obediently resumed his place behind Frodo, trusting the Elf, but some of the hope, that had begun to kindle in him, died a little. He eyed the swaying rope-bridge, and swallowed the terror that rose in his throat.

Gayadur had crossed back over the Silverlode, and held a hand out towards the rope bridge in invitation. "Come!" he said. "I shall lead you and Vanaloth shall follow behind. Frodo should come first, then Samwise, then Aragorn. Then you shall enter the Naith of Lórien. Few are permitted even to set foot there, so you may consider yourselves privileged indeed. From there, we shall take you to Caras Galadhon, where dwells Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel."

"Have you received any word, from your companions?" Frodo asked impatiently, nodding towards the Elves across the river, "of the rest of our Fellowship? Have any been found?"

Gayadur hesitated. "I am not certain," he admitted. "The reports are somewhat confused. There is a missing scout party, led by our Marchwarden himself, but no reports of your missing companions. However, I am told that some strangers, along with the missing party, are expected to reach the city before we are. The Lady," Gayadur lowered his voice, "sees much, especially on the borders of her own land. Take heart! You may yet see your friends again."

Frodo nodded. He would not abandon hope, not yet. But he remained keenly aware of how slim that hope was, especially for Merry. And…

"What of those we left behind in Moria? Will anyone be sent to see if they managed to escape?" he asked, a sharp, sudden longing for Pippin's lilting voice filling his heart.

Vanaloth stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on Frodo's elbow. "The scouts are searching for them," he said. "Come, you will learn much more from the Lady and the Lord than from us."

Still Frodo hesitated a moment, until Aragorn spoke. "Do not think you are abandoning them to their fate by crossing into safety, Frodo," he said. "If any can find them, it is the scouts of Lórien. And if any can heal Merry, it is their elven hands. You must remember your burden, and Its cost. We must have safety and respite, even if for a little while."

Frodo nodded, he had not been certain until Aragorn voiced it, why he was reluctant to cross the bridge. Well, other than the obvious. He moved across it cautiously and slowly, breathing a sigh of relief when his feet touched solid ground again. Sam shuffled along, clutching hard, and looking down into the pale eddying water as if it was a chasm in the mountains.

Sam breathed with relief when he was safely across. "'Live and learn!' as my gaffer used to say. Though he was thinking of gardening, not of roosting like a bird, nor of trying to walk like a spider. Not even my Uncle Andy ever did a trick like that!"

Once all were on the east bank, the Elves untied the ropes and coiled two of them. An Elf appeared from behind a tree on the west side, drew back the last one, slung it on his shoulder, and with a wave of his hand went away.

Now the three remaining companions followed Vanaloth along the paths in the wood, while Gayadur walked behind. The ground beneath their feet was smooth and soft.

It was impossible for one's heart not to lift in this place, Sam thought. The trees towered so far above them that he nearly tipped himself over leaning back trying to see the crowns. "Have a care, Master Samwise," Gayadur had murmured with a steadying hand on his back, or he might have. Sam blushed and paid attention to where he was putting his feet.

Tiny golden flowers dotted their path, delicate and lovely, and Sam was entranced. The grass was soft beneath his feet, and the breeze ruffled his hair, smelling of green and living things. Something inside him that had knotted tight ever since… no, even before, Moria loosened a little. They were safe. It was almost too much to understand, or believe.

Safe. Now if they only had good news of Mr Merry and Legolas. Sam hoped that the Elves would send an expedition back to the Mines … just to be sure. He wanted to go back, he realised suddenly, and see with his own eyes. And at the same time, he never wanted to go near that horrible place again, not even hear its name. Tears prickled in his eyes and he dashed them away.

Frodo walked after Vanaloth, soothed nearly into a trance, when suddenly a change of light made him look up and catch his breath.

They were standing in an open space carpeted with lush green grass. Upon it grew two circles of trees: the outer had bark of pure white, and were leafless but beautiful nonetheless; the inner were mallorn trees of great height, covered in pale gold. High amid the branches of a majestic tree that stood in the centre there gleamed a white flet. At the feet of the trees, and all about the green hillsides the grass was studded with small golden flowers shaped like stars. Among them, nodding on slender stalks, were other flowers, white and palest green: they glimmered as a mist amid the rich hue of the grass. Above, sky was blue, and the afternoon sun glowed upon the hill and cast long green shadows beneath the trees.

"Behold! You are come to Cerin Amroth," said Vanaloth. "for this is the heart of the ancient realm as it was long ago, and here is the mound of Amroth, where in happier days his high house was built. Here ever bloom the winter flowers in the unfading grass: the yellow elanor, and the pale niphredil. Here we will stay awhile, and come to the city of the Galadhrim at dusk."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Legolas watched Haldir silently carry Merry, without even a backward glance the Lórien Marchwarden disappeared from view.

Bereaved of the hobbit he had gone through so much for, Legolas felt oddly incomplete and shivered at the loss, all the while he was unaware of his thoughts and feelings slipping past his weakened barriers to be read by the Lady who had remained motionless, awaiting the return of his attention.

When he realised that he had actually turned his back to the royal couple he felt his ears burn with embarrassment at the slight and quickly returned his attention to the ethereal pair, bowing low in deference.

"Forgive me Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn, I meant no offence" He breathed as his weakness returned to him now that all distractions were gone.

"There is nothing to forgive," Galadriel held up her hand as if to still a protest, "but there are questions that need to be answered. Nine we know set out from Imladris," She paused as if considering whether to divulge the next piece of information, "My link with Haldir is very strong and I am aware of what took place in Moria." She left the cursed name hanging in the air like some foul poison and he took his hint to continue as he became aware of Celeborn's questioning expression. He briefly wondered why Galadriel wished him to be the bearer of the tragedies that befell their small group but realised that there was precious little Galadriel did without a greater purpose and he did not question her logic.

Though it pained him he forced himself to speak in greater depth than he had spoken to Haldir and his brothers, revealing his anger, desperation and pain as he told of Mithrandir's heroic battle with the Balrog of Morgoth and how he met the same doom as the legendary Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower when he too faced such a beast.

"... for needlessly did we walk into Moria." He finished his pain-filled tale, anger burning anew at the fate of one who he, like his father before him, had known since childhood.

"Needless were none of the deeds of Mithrandir," She lightly admonished as she turned briefly to her Lord husband and placed a comforting hand upon his arm. For the first time Legolas saw such raw pain as to rival his own in those blue depths and Celeborn's smooth brow grew lined at this ill news. But then in the blink of an eye his face was washed smooth again, devoid of emotion and carefully blank...too blank. Now he understood why Galadriel had wished him to deliver this news. Mithrandir touched the hearts and lives of many and was obviously a dear friend to the Lord of Lórien.

Once more Galadriel's golden warming smile fell upon him and the young prince felt refreshed by the beauty of this fairest of elves and as he raised his eyes to meet hers, again he felt as if he would lose himself in their depths.

Legolas found all his tension had drained away without him being aware of it. He rose from his obeisance and mused at the image he must present, his usually immaculate appearance was dishevelled. His long golden hair had not been combed for the better part of a week leaving it to hang tangled and limp, braids barely passable for an elfling and he knew there was dried mud caked just above his left ear which he now noted was uncomfortably itchy.

His clothing had fared worse, having many tears where he had been forced to rip the fabric for Merry's bandages. Worse, in the areas that were relatively untouched, a grotesque mixture of hobbit, orc and warg blood had merged and stained, to form a myriad of blotches that rather reminded him of some of the fungus formations he had seen growing in the danker parts of his father's realm.

"Forgive my appearance My Lady," Legolas apologised, although he knew none was necessary, "I fear I have weakened my body to the point where I can no longer maintain my apparel and grooming. I may have…" Legolas broke off as he was unsure what had occurred when he had brought Merry back from the brink of mortal death.

"Prince Legolas you must voice your question before you may enjoy the hospitality Lothlórien has to offer you...you know of what I speak but I would have you ask it of me," Galadriel's voice was again commanding as she held him with her gaze.

Legolas felt himself break out into a cold sweat as the moment he both feared and craved was finally upon him. His voice barely a whisper, he did as he was commanded. "Lady Galadriel, I would be in your debt if you would be able to tell me whether the Valar took the grace that I offered them in exchange for Meriadoc's life? He bowed low once again to punctuate the request and waited patiently for her response, face now as blank as Celeborn's, he felt oddly numb as the Lady continued to consider him.

_'So unlike Thranduil, this golden prince. He is neither afraid to appear humble in front of his elders nor does he allow pride to rule his actions.'_ Galadriel thought as she beckoned him to her and placed her hand lightly across his brow and concentrated on the strength of his fea.

For a fleeting moment she too feared that in aiding the perian Legolas had spent the greater part of his immortality. Yet, as she searched deeper, she found, to her relief, that which she sought. A fragile light pulsed in him to the beat of Legolas' blood and at her gentle coaxing she watched as it grew until it no longer held a translucent quality but was solid, as it should be. She wearily withdrew, her energy spent, encouraging that flame to burn, and eased her hand from his face.

Taking a step back she allowed a thankful smile to curl her lips as she spoke, "Your immortality remains untouched Legolas, but be warned it will be a while before you feel your former strength return in full." She paused as Legolas smiled and his eyes sparkled to this news. "Go now and rest, Rúmil will show you the way."

Legolas bowed once more to the Lord and Lady and with a heartfelt, "thank you," he allowed Rúmil to lead him back down the steps. Before he was completely out of view he turned as he heard Galadriel address Orophin in a tender tone, he nearly fell down the next few steps as he watched Galadriel draw the young Galadhrim to her, inspecting his face and speaking quietly to him before enveloping him in a tender embrace. He watched as Orophin hugged her back and Celeborn moved to cup his head from the back in a display of fatherly affection Legolas had not detected existed while Orophin and Rúmil had stood discreetly in the background throughout their meeting.

At Rúmil's quiet laughter and steadying hand on his arm he turned open-mouthed, surprise and the unspoken question written across his features.

"You are not the only one who faced a great fear and emerged victorious and better for it this day," Rúmil smiled as he spoke, relief softening his eyes as he continued, "Orophin overcame his fear of humans through our journey with you and Merry. Haldir and I have had a great burden lifted from us, you have no idea how this has weighed like a stone around our necks, more so for Haldir than anyone."

"I am pleased for you, all three of you, well do I understand the relief if not the burden, but...if I may be so bold, are your Lord and Lady as free with their affection with all the Galadhrim?"

Rúmil was caught in an embarrassed smile before he managed to answer Legolas' question. "No they most certainly are not," he laughed. "But we three brothers are their fosterlings and, no matter how much time passes for they who were there to see the creation of the Sun and Moon, we will always be their elflings and treat us as such still on occasion.

0-0-0-0-0-0

As Frodo stood, still lost in wonder, a marching host of Elves came up silently: they were hastening towards the northern borders to guard against any attack from Moria; and they brought news, some of which Vanaloth reported. The marauding orcs had been waylaid and almost all destroyed and the remnants had fled westward towards the mountains, and were being pursued. None had yet reported news of the three companions left in Moria, but the scouts of Lórien continued to search as they forced the enemy back under the mountain.

A strange creature also had been seen, running with bent back and with hands near the ground, like a beast and yet not of beast-shape. It had eluded capture, and they had not shot it, not knowing whether it was good or ill, and it had vanished down the Silverlode southward.

"Also," said Vanaloth, "they bring me a message from the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim. Two strangers are even now being brought to them, to be placed in their care for succour and healing. One, our kin from the north; the other, a perian, sore wounded. They may already be in the Lady's keeping."

Frodo reached blindly out for Sam's hand, blinking furiously and shaking his head as if to clear it. Alive, alive, alive, his heart sang. Merry, alive, and being tended to, and Legolas safe as well. Alive!

"Frodo," Gayadur had placed a hand on his back to steady him, Frodo realised, "please rest. We have some distance yet to travel."

Frodo let out a gust of air he had not been aware of holding in, and it began as something akin to a sob but turned into laughter. "My cousin is alive?" he asked Vanaloth, needing to have it verified.

The Elf smiled kindly at him. "Yes, and being taken to our healers with as much haste as possible, even now," he said.

Frodo laughed again, feeling fatigue and pain lifted almost magically from his body. "Please," he said, giving not a second glance to the wonder of Cerin Amroth, "please, may we continue now?"

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Merry could hear sweet voices singing in the distance. He had not heard music such as this since they had left Rivendell. Perhaps he was back in Rivendell? Oh no, that was not a good thought. It would mean starting all over again. Travelling through the desolate land of Hollin once more and up that snow clad mountain, although perhaps not this time – no straight to Moria. Moria! That's where it had all started to go wrong. Merry remembered now, Gandalf, poor Gandalf, he had fallen. And then the Fellowship had been beset with orcs and… and he had been thrown by a troll and wounded almost to death and Pippin! What had happened to Pippin?

Merry realised it was time to open his eyes, but unfortunately they seemed to be stuck shut, either that or it was very dark. He tried to move his hand up to his face to help his eyes to open, but nothing moved, he seemed to be tied down. Or perhaps his arm was bandaged to his body – yes that felt more likely. He struggled a little, trying to ascertain the exact state of his mobility.

"Be still Meriadoc, you must not writhe so." The voice was like that of Legolas, but not Legolas, "Your arm is bound to your body to keep it still and there are stitches in your wound that you must have a care not to loosen."

"Whhmmmm…" Merry tried to ask what time it was and where he was, but his voice seemed to have deserted him and his mouth felt very dry. A gentle hand slipped beneath him – a large hand, not a hobbit then – it lifted him to sit and then a cup was held to his mouth and he drank a cool delicious liquid, not water nor wine. Neither was it cordial or even mead – but sweet and subtle.

All at once Merry felt his throat lubricate and his eyes gradually begin to open. He saw a delicately featured elven face leaning over him and, as the elf moved back, to his utter delight, there at the end of the great bed that he didn't even fill half of, there were Frodo and Sam.

"Frodo! Sam! You're safe!" Merry felt his breath grow short in his excitement at seeing his cousin and dear old Sam again. He tried to crane his neck a little to see beyond them, but they appeared to be alone. "Where's Pip, too scared to come up the stairs I expect. How soon can I go down to see him?"

**To Be Continued**

**Editor's Note:** I apologise for the long delay in updating this story, especially as the remaining chapters were/are virtually finished and just sitting on my computer waiting to be posted.

Chapter 17 will follow hard on the heels of this one. No teasing this time – promise!

Llinos

**Q&A**

**_EVIL MANIAC:_** Yay! Fabulous story! Actually,forgive me if I'm wrong, but are three of your elves called Hedgehog, Mouse and Squirrel in Welsh?  
**Meriadoc:** Aha! Llinos' has been caught red-handed! Using Cymraeg instead of Sindarin, just because she speaks that better. Well done for spotting her mendacity! You'd get a prize if I had one.  
**_EVIL MANIAC:_** Please update soon (and I'm also waiting for an update of Recaptured)  
**Meriadoc:** Again - I shall kick Llinos for you. (I always enjoy that!)

**_The Fourth Drunken Pirate:_** yay, Frodo, Aragorn, and Sam are in Lothlorien! I can't wait to see the happy reuniting chapter!  
**Meriadoc:** Hopefully, all your dreams have come true – I however, must still wait!

**_pwrhungryir:_** NO! Don't let Legolas die! That would be awful! If you really want to you can kill someone else- just as long as it isn't him!  
**Meriadoc:** How about the authors for not updating? About time something nasty happened to them!  
**_pwrhungryir:_** Which by the way makes me wonder if this next part will be angsty or happy- or maybe both? That would be good!  
**Meriadoc:** Well my angst ain't going anywhere for the time being!

**_Freya_**: Oh, no! I went the last chapter, was a horrible reader and didn't review, and promptly missed out on a chance to chat with Meriadoc himself. I shall try to remember myself in the future!  
**Meriadoc:** I can hardly believe anyone would want to miss such a chance!  
**_Freya:_** Please let the kindly ladies that share your journey with us know that the conversation Legolas has with the birch is entirely welcome to those from a shamanic background. It's rare in fanfiction for that to be true, and I doubt they 'got it spot- on' by coincidence:)  
**Meriadoc:** Oh I don't know, Pip talks to the trees all the time. Mind you, they seldom talk back. That part was related by Mainframe, but I don't know what her faith is, Irish I think?

**_overth3moon:_** oh, i am in love with this story. Even moreso now with the more focus on legolas, my favorite character of course.  
**Meriadoc:** What on earth do you mean? "of course", I think that careless elf, who managed to lose me twice, is not deserving of your admiration, especially with me to idolise!

**_Mi Ana I Numen:_** Awesome story! Merry and all better be alright, or else! Lovely description of Lady Galadriel by the way... keep up the good work and update SOON!  
**Meriadoc:** Thank you. I agree that Merry had better be alright. You keep those 'or elses' coming thick and fast.

**_Dylan Curtis:_** I'm gonna cry! Please get better merry! Pretty please! Don't make me beg!  
**Meriadoc:** I don't mind if you beg.

**_Tatiana:_** i have only just found this fic so i want to give everyone a hug.  
**Meriadoc:** Thank you for the hugs and the review, they were both delicious.

**_Aya-Shoru:_** ooh, good story, please update soon.  
**Meriadoc:** Sorry, we didn't, but we will next time – promise!

**_Auntiemeesh:_** I particularly liked Gimli's memory of the night in Imladris when Merry and Pippin overindulged, and his description of their strange manner of recovery the following morning. I wish I could have seen him trying to cover for his impossibly rude spying, lol.  
**Meriadoc:** Oh! Was he spying? I thought he was just checking the door for woodworm. Who was he spying on?

**_domstygerr_**: Glad to see Gimli allowing the elves to assist him. Pip, love save some food for later and don't forget to share! Oh the hobbits are going to be reunited soon, thank the Gods for that! I must say, I have waited a while for some good news! Legolas, you never cease to amaze me! I adore you! And Merry, hang on Pippin is near :)  
**Meriadoc:** Well that's all good advice and very reassuring, although I don't suppose any of them are listening.

**_Reasonably crazy:_** Things seem to be lightening up... Frodo's troupe, as well as Legolas and Merry are in Lorien, and surely nothing more can happen to Pippin! Right?  
**Meriadoc:** Don't bank on that!

**_Gemini969:_** Update soon please it's a great story so far.  
**Meriadoc:** We didn't, but we will and thanks.

**_lindahoyland:_** I just love the way you describe magic of Lothlorien and the characters different reactions. I am looking forward to their reunion  
**Meriadoc:** Hope you liked it – well as far as it went.

**_pipinheart:_** Very well done piece, had me begging for more. I hope all is reunited soon. Merry and pippin really seem to need each other. I loved frodo's thoughts of grief and him hoping that somehow maybe things will turn out right...  
**Meriadoc:** Sigh! That's Frodo, always looking on the bright side of everything!

**_Aranna Undomiel:_** A very very funny part, about the hobbits feasting in Rivendell. I had a huge smile on my face the whole time, it almost split my face..LOL  
**Meriadoc:** Gracious! I hope you managed to sew it back together.

**_Pip4:_** I liked the part when Merry and Legolas saw the Golden Wood for the first time.  
**Meriadoc:** Well I'd have had an even better view if Legolas's hair didn't get in the way all the time.

**_Smalldiver_**: They're close to being reunited! I can feel it! Maybe next chapter, or the chapter after. After all, nothing much more can go wrong, can it?  
**Meriadoc:** Don't count your hobbits before they're all rescued!  
**_Smalldiver_**: (Perhaps I'm just feeling a bit too reassured that there are no evil elves, just cool ones)  
**Meriadoc:** …and Welsh ones apparently, with silly animal names – sigh!

**_Mae Ari:_** I hope we'll see everyone reunited soon. I hope Legolas will come to terms of becoming "mortal", although I suppose it must be quite a turn for an elf.  
**Meriadoc:** I wouldn't worry too much about Leggy, he'll pull through.  
**_Mae Ari:_** Hobbits have all the luck, don't they? They might get sick, but for never very long. sigh  
**Meriadoc:** Luck? No luck involved – just pure skill and an iron constitution.


	17. Singing and Singed

The East Gate

Authors The Eastgaters

Cast list  
Frodo – Baylor  
Samwise – Budgielover  
Pippin, Merry, Legolas, Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli andSundry Elves– Llinos

In this chapter most of the original players were no longer available and were all understudied by Llinos

Story Editor Llinos  
Beta Marigold

CHAPTER 17  
**Singing and Singed**

After he had been presented to the Lord and Lady, an experience he was setting aside for now, to be examined when he was in a clearer state of mind, before he would eat, before he would bathe, before he would sleep, Frodo had insisted on seeing Merry, and none with him had objected. In fact, Aragorn and Sam had leaned over the bandage-swaddled figure in the bed just as eagerly as he, their faces as disbelieving and grateful. Truly, Frodo had scarcely dared hope for this – to find Merry alive after suffering that horrible wound and, from what Frodo gathered, additional battering after they had parted. He was not certain how, exactly, but Legolas had brought Merry back from the very brink of death, through some power of love and self-sacrifice that had left the Elf looking weary, a first in Frodo's experience.

Merry was deeply asleep though and would sleep for a long time, he'd been reassured, so Frodo allowed himself to be tended to. Cleaned and fed, his wound redressed with comforting hands, he had sunk into a soft bed and not woken until the Sun was nearing Her height.

He paused for more food, but nothing else, before returning to Merry's side, Sam with him. As noon became afternoon, Frodo watched his cousin's face carefully, recollecting all those times he had watched Merry sleep, from infancy to childhood, through illness and injury, in grief and in the sweet sleep of the innocent.

Now, finally, he was rewarded with familiar blue-grey eyes and crooked smile, and the beloved, longed-for voice uttering words Frodo dreaded to hear:

"Where's Pip? Too scared to come up the stairs, I expect. How soon can I go down to see him?"

For a heartbeat, no one said anything, and the smile on Merry's face faltered. Before it could fade, Frodo picked up Merry's free hand and kissed the knuckles tenderly, giving himself the moment he needed to compose his face and steady his voice.

"Merry-lad," he said, and was pleased to hear ease and love in his voice, "when did a Took ever show greater fear of heights than a Brandybuck? I believe you would glue your feet to the ground if it meant never having to leave it. I am certain that the moment he arrives, Pippin will come tearing up those stairs without a moment's hesitation."

He met Merry's eyes steadily as he spoke, and squeezed his cousin's hand.

Merry furrowed his brow as Frodo spoke, desperately trying to remember all he could and to piece those memories together. It was difficult to distinguish waking from sleeping, actual events from nightmare recollections. That he had been injured was one fact to which he could anchor firmly, but his last pain-free coherent moment before that? It had been flying through the air and landing hard and turning to defend himself from an onslaught of orcs in the mines of Moria, only to find his hand empty and his sword gone. After that things became muddled.

Merry thought he had seen Pippin fighting and had several images of him from the past few days. Once when he came to comfort Merry's pain as he lay in the strange cottage and again, when Pippin himself had been hurting, he had been drawn to his little cousin's side. But how much of this was real and how much imagined, Merry could not tell.

So where was Pippin now? Why was he not with Frodo and Sam? What did Frodo mean, 'the moment he arrives'? How could Frodo and Sam and the others have left without Pip? It could mean only one thing!

Merry grasped Frodo's hand with all the poor strength he could muster, digging his fingernails into Frodo's skin to stop him withdrawing, "He's dead, Frodo! He's dead and you can't tell me because I'm ill. I know you too well Frodo, don't lie to me!"

Merry felt his whole body tremble with utter terror as he thought of Pippin torn to pieces by those hideous, gnarled-fanged creatures and then remorse quickly followed. "It was all my fault Frodo! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I let Pippin die… I let go of my sword… I should've held on… it's all my fault!"

0-0-0-0-0-0

Llygoden carefully unbound the dwarf's injured leg and poured a little liquid from a small leather bottle. "This may feel cold, but it is from the witch hazel plant and will ease the bruising of your injury." The elf skilfully rewrapped the broken limb with the right amount of pressure, reusing the splints that Pippin had originally provided.

Gimli sighed with relief as the treatment drew to a close. He did not want to show weakness, especially in front of the elves, but his leg was taxing him almost beyond endurance, since, not only was it a bad break, but he had been dragged around for nearly three days with very little rest or respite. "Thank you Master Elf," he snorted, "your tinctures are cold, but somewhat effective."

Llygoden smiled in return, "I'm happy to be of service Sir Dwarf."

"Gimli – the name is Gimli – son of Glóin." He harrumphed a little and coughed into his beard as if to mask the sudden attempt at courtesy, "What's ailing the young hobbit?" Gimli noticed with concern that Pippin was now holding his belly and groaning.

"Pippin?" Boromir dropped to one knee beside his companion, "are you in pain? Here have some water." The man held the lip of the bottle solicitously to the moaning hobbit's mouth. Pippin grabbed hold of the bottle and tipped it up, taking a long swig of the refreshing liquid, hoping that it would help to wash down the six Elven cakes he had scoffed in his enthusiastic hunger.

"Stop! No! Do not let the perian drink!" Draenog shouted in panic. "The lembas he has consumed will swell within him and cause him great distress!"

Quickly, but too late, Boromir snatched the bottle away, dropping it to the ground as he picked Pippin up and slapped him heartily on the back trying to make him expel the water he had just poured copiously down his throat. He was rewarded with a small dribble and a loud, indignant shout. "Boromir! Ouch! Put me down!"

"Please Sir, do not distress him more." Wiwer looked and sounded alarmed at the man's violent healing technique. "Give the perian to me."

Boromir hefted Pippin upright into the crook of his arm and made to pass him to the elf, but the hobbit had other ideas and wriggled out of the grasp of both man and elf, landing with a thump on the ground. "Stop passing me around like a bag!" Pippin stood up with his hands on his hips looking indignantly around at the concerned company, "I'll be all right in a moment, I just have a touch of indigest… indige… owww! ohhhh my! aieeee my belly!" Pippin clutched his stomach and sank to the forest floor, crying and moaning.

Llygoden knelt beside him as the others looked on in worried concern. Gently the healer elf put one hand on Pippin's brow and the other slid under the hobbit's own little fists to carefully palpate the aching stomach. "There, there, little perian. It must hurt a lot, try to be still and you'll feel better in a while!" The elf reached into the bag around his shoulder and drew out a small glass bottle. He held it under Pippin's nose, letting him breath the contents until the writhing lessened and Pippin's moans grew fainter. Then he brought out a little wooden box that contained a light coloured paste. This he swiped up on his finger and pushed the digit into Pippin's mouth, wiping the paste around the hobbit's tongue and teeth. He repeated this several times, and with each application Pippin grew more and more still until, eventually, his breathing slowed to that of a sleeping hobbit.

Llygoden, without ceremony placed the drugged hobbit in Boromir's arms and turned to confer in Elvish with his brothers. "I think we may have to forgo the blindfolds. This occurrence means now that the little one must be carried and the dwarf already needs much help to reach safety."

"But what of the secrets of Lothlórien?" Wiwer was more than aware that none but elves, wizards and a few trusted men had looked upon their realm since Durin's Day, "are we now to lay all our defences bare unto a dwarf?"

"We have little choice." Draenog decided. "We cannot carry the perian with the care he needs and guide a lame dwarf without further injury, not if he is blindfolded."

"But we could manage it if only the dwarf were blindfold." Wiwer looked over at Boromir, standing as the elves had left him, cradling Pippin in his arms and looking anxious and baffled. "The man could carry the perian and one of us can lead, while the other two guide or bear the dwarf."

"But I think he will not." Draenog said, "It is strange to see such an alliance, but this man of Gondor and this son of Glóin seem determined to suffer each other's fate, whatever it be. If one is blindfold, the other will insist upon the same."

"Then we have no choice," Llygoden shrugged. "We cannot leave them here, so they must come free and without hindrance." As his brothers made no further argument the healer turned back to Boromir and Gimli and spoke once more in the Common Tongue. "It is agreed, because of the little one's illness, you shall travel without blindfolds. Come we must delay no longer – we must travel through the hours of darkness as it is. Even so I doubt we will reach our destination before late tomorrow."

Boromir blinked in surprise and looked at Gimli with raised eyebrows and then with a look of puzzlement and concern at the sleeping hobbit in his arms. "I thank you Sir," he said to Llygoden, "but tell me, what have you done to Pippin? What happened to make him ill and what did you give him?"

Llygoden smiled and looked down at the hobbit, running a gentle hand through the tousled curls to feel his brow, "He ate six lembas loaves in one sitting. It is Elven waybread and one bite is enough to sustain an Elven warrior for a day and a night. Then to drink water on top of that, the bread swelled in his stomach and caused great pain. No, do not worry." Llygoden saw the look of guilt on Boromir's face, remembering that he had given the water to Pippin. "He will recover in time. But I have given him a powerful sleeping potion to keep him out of pain while the bread is… um… digested."

"Would you like me to carry the perian?" Wiwer offered.

"Don't worry, I can bear him for now." Boromir looked down at the now peaceful, sleeping hobbit and was thinking how sweet and innocent the childlike face was, when suddenly he both heard and felt a growling rumble that emanated from the region of Pippin's middle. "Err… I think the digestive process has begun. Perhaps it would be better if you were to carry him… erm… I think Gimli would like my assistance." Hurriedly the man deposited the grumbling bundle into the elf's arms and retrieved Gimli's crutch for him. "Come now friend Gimli, we had best not keep these good elves waiting."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Sam's resolution to stay out of the cousins' conversation faltered and dissolved under the pain in Merry's voice. He shouldn't get excited – he shouldn't thrash about so. Even reaching up to take his cousin's hand must have hurt him. The lad was shaking. That surely couldn't be good for him, all wrapped up and bandaged like that.

But he could hardly gainsay his master. If Frodo had chosen not to tell the lad, then it certainly wasn't Sam's place.

He glanced up at Aragorn, hoping the Man would take it upon himself to intervene. To distract Mr Merry, or jolly him out of his fear, or – or something.

Aragorn had kept silent, watching with amused relief as the hobbits greeted one another, but knowing that the inevitable questions about Pippin would come quickly.

Aragorn was impressed with the way Frodo handled it, but he knew that Merry would not settle for less than the truth on this matter. Laying his hand upon Frodo's shoulder, the Ranger leaned forward and smiled gently at the bandaged hobbit.

"We do not know if Peregrin lives, Merry, nor do we know the fate of Gimli, or of Boromir. They were still in Moria when we fled, and indeed they bought our only chance of escape." He paused, looking down at the upturned faces of these small warriors, of which he had grown so fond.

"Do not lose heart. Boromir and Gimli...and Peregrin, are strong and stout-hearted. I for one will not lose hope until I hear more than a rumour of their deaths."

Frodo, his hand still over Merry's, gently ran his thumb across Merry's scraped and battered knuckles. "Merry-lad," he said gently, "Pippin is with Boromir and Gimli, and even better protected than had he been with you and I, and Sam. You know they will not allow harm to befall him, even at the cost of their own lives. Aragorn is right – I will not give up hope until I have seen proof that there is none. We shall see Pippin again, and soon. Even now, scouts are scouring the countryside looking for them."

Still seeing doubt and fear on Merry's face, he drew his cousin's hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to it. "I have been reunited with you, dear cousin, when hope of it seemed beyond probability," he said. "If we can be here together, then I've no doubt that Pippin can yet join us."

The words that Merry was hearing did little to comfort him. Pippin's whereabouts it seemed were unknown and, even if he were with Boromir and Gimli, the last they knew of him was inside the mines. "B-but Frodo, if Pip was left i-in the m-mines…"

Merry knew he should not task his poor cousin in this way, he had enough to trouble him with the responsibility of the Ring, but he could not stop the feeling of total dread that lay upon his heart. "I know Boromir and… and Gimli are stout warriors, but Frodo, even G-Gandalf did not survive the horrors of that place… I cannot see how Pip…" Merry gulped and tried to stifle his tears of guilt and remorse.

He knew he should have more trust in his little cousin's ability to survive but somehow the thought of Pippin hurt and without him was too much to bear. Ever since his father and uncle had charged him, as the oldest, to watch out for the heir to the Thainship he had taken that responsibility to heart – and more – Pippin himself occupied the largest part of Meriadoc's soul and the hobbit found it hard to relinquish that responsibility to anyone else, no matter how great and powerful they might be.

Merry tried to compose himself once more to go on, although he knew deep inside that his older cousin understood his bond with Pip and did not really need it explained. "Frodo, how can I trust anyone else? You have to help me get out of here, please Frodo! I can't just lie here with Pip lost!" Merry struggled lamely and attempted to free his trapped arm, trying to sit upright at the same time.

Kindly but firm hands soon stilled his attempt.

"Now that's enough, Mr Merry," said Sam firmly. "Anybody who's got sense could see you're not up to moving about." Sam pushed Merry back down among the pillows and tapped Merry's bandaged arm gently, certain that he wasn't hurting him under all that wrapping. Staying out of family discussions was one thing, but he wasn't going to stand by and see Mr Merry hurt himself by trying to get up, not after they'd got him back after thinking him lost.

Not sure if hobbit-sense was enough to convince his master's cousin, Sam continued, "And do you think Master Pippin would want to see you like this? No offence, sir, but you look right awful. I've seen you and Mr Frodo drag yourselves back from The Green Dragon at dawn looking better than you look now."

That was a telling argument. Embarrassed by his own outspokenness, Sam was careful not to look at his master. More seriously, he continued in a soft voice. "You'll scare him, sir, when he gets here. Looking like you do, I mean. Won't you just take a little nap and rest a bit, so you don't frighten the lad when he comes roaring up them stairs?"

Frodo looked desperately at Merry, wanting to calm and reassure him but not certain how. "Please, Merry," he half-begged, gently taking hold of Merry's other arm and stroking it, trying to hold him still and comfort him. "There is nothing we can do right now, but have faith in Pippin and in Boromir and Gimli. Think of what you have endured, and how little hope there was of you coming to this place alive, yet here you are. And if there is anyone filled with hope, it is Pippin.

Merry withdrew into himself, turning his face into the pillow away from Sam and Frodo. Why could they not understand? He could not find anything positive in the situation. Pippin was lost, had been left behind in the dark and dangerous mines that swarmed with bloodthirsty, terrifying orcs and trolls. In his feverish state it was all Merry could focus on. Pippin was lost and it was all his fault. He hitched a sob, that was muffled into the down of the pillow and murmured the same thing over and over, "Pippin, I'm sorry, so sorry!"

The voice that belonged to none of his companions spoke again, "Meriadoc, my name is Gaeaf, I am charged by the Lady Galadriel to care for you. Would you have her abrade me for neglecting my task?" The healer elf waited for a few moments hoping his words would sink in.

Merry lay still for a moment, neither sobbing nor struggling any more. "I-I j-just can't… I'm sorry. It's too hard to think of anything… wh-when Pip…"

"Then try not to think, you must rest and take some nourishment, or else you will fade into shadow and darkness. Come now, you must drink a little." Gaeaf lifted Merry back to a sitting position and held a goblet to his lips.

Merry turned his head away and refused to drink. "Please, don't make me," he whispered, "I don't want anything, just leave me alone, please, all of you, just go away."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Gimli had been relieved that he no longer needed to argue about the blindfold, especially as he was on the point of capitulating and now would not lose face. He had hauled himself to his feet and taken the crutch from Boromir.

Through the night and into the next day the dwarf had valiantly walked as much as he could with a few well-earned rests. Eventually they took a long break along with some carefully administered lembas, discovered in the bottom of Llygoden's bag and, having washed a few bites down with water, both Boromir and Gimli sympathised greatly with Pippin's predicament. The bread was indeed delicious but, once hydrated, almost painfully satiating.

As the Sun climbed higher, Gimli dragged himself up once more. "Aye, and it's time we were away from here. Are you sure that youngling is only ailing temporarily?" He looked up over the end of his nose at the elf carrying Pippin, "He looks far too…"

Gimli never finished his sentence. Wiwer suddenly threw Pippin up and over his shoulder, balancing the hobbit there, as he pulled his bow from off his shoulder, nocked an arrow in place and fired… one… two and three in quick succession.

"Get down!" Draenog pushed the dwarf back to the ground again, making him fall flat on his face and landing on top of him as an arrow whooshed across the elf's back, almost parting his long, golden hair.

Boromir, in spite of his great weariness, reacting by instinct rather than conscious thought, drew his sword and spun in one seamless move to cleave the head off an orc that came charging into the clearing while Llygoden simultaneously plunged a long bladed dagger into another foe.

Wiwer's first three arrows had each found their mark and now the elf half threw and half handed the still sleeping Pippin to Draenog as he raised up from on top of the dwarf and then raced off into the trees in pursuit of yet another two orcs. One fell to his fourth arrow, but the other evaded him by rolling down a deep gully and into the flowing stream at the bottom. Exasperated the elf made his way back to the others.

"Did you stop him?" Draenog had draped Pippin over his shoulder now as he went to join his brother. "I think he was the last."

"No," Wiwer grimaced slightly, "He escaped into the river. I fear he will bring others back upon us. We must delay no more."

"We will head for the Bythyn Flet," Llygoden decided. "We cannot make enough speed with these injured and indisposed '**_guests'_**." He said the word with the merest hint of exasperation.

"I am sorry we are such a burden, good sirs." Boromir said apologetically, in spite of the fact that he had acquitted himself in the battle with honour, he felt his companions were encumbering their hosts and that they had probably caused the orc attack in the first place.

"It is no matter," Llygoden remembered his manners. "Come, let us delay no more."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"Now that enough o' that, Mr Merry," Sam said firmly, ignoring the startled glance the elven healer awarded him. "I've seen baby ducks that show more sense than you. Like Mr Frodo said, we thought you were dead … and here you are, all safe and sound and getting better."

Sam bit his lip. He couldn't tell from Merry's averted head what effect his words had had. He glanced up at his master, then at Aragorn and the healer. "Mr Merry," he said quietly, "Pippin's going to need you when they all get here. He's going to need you strong enough to take care of him till all this is sorted out so to speak. Won't you let us help you, for his sake?"

"I'm not ungrateful Sam," Merry managed to whisper, "I just can't… I feel like I'm drowning…" he gasped a wheezing breath and tried to cough but could not manage it. "I can't eat… nor drink, I'd… ch-choke…" he broke off again, fighting for his breath, close to hyperventilating.

Gaeaf lifted the hobbit forward in the bed, leaning him over his arm and rubbing his back. "Calm now Meriadoc, breathe slowly, softly, like the wind in the trees, like the kiss of the sun on the flowers, as a ripple across a pond or a raindrop upon a petal." He repeated the words over and over, speaking softly and gently. Finally, satisfied that his patient was breathing normally again, the elf rested him back against the voluminous pillows that kept the hobbit almost sitting upright.

Merry looked around at the anxious faces of his friends, his own cheeks like chalk in stark contrast to his red eyes, rubbed sore from crying. He sniffed a little and drew another difficult breath. "I'm sorry – I d-don't mean to be f-foolish. But I know something is wrong. I felt Pippin in my heart grieving because he'd lost me, because we'll never see each other again. It made me feel he was – was…" Merry could not bring himself to say the words.

"You think he has departed this life?" Gaeaf asked quietly.

Merry nodded, biting his bottom lip to stop the tears from spilling once more.

Frodo looked sadly at his cousin. Merry and Pippin had a strong and intuitive bond, that was certain, but even so, all that Sam and he had just said to Merry was true. Here he was, reunited with his beloved Merry-lad, beyond all hope. He would not believe Pippin was dead until he held the lad's body in his arms.

He took Merry's hand again, gently, and stroked his brow. "If that is so, Merry-lad, then there is naught we can do for him, save lead lives that he would be proud of," he said quietly. "But I will not believe it unless I see his body with my own eyes. I will place my faith in the people of the Golden Wood, that they will discover what has become of our Pippin, good or ill. For now, I know where my place is, and what it is I must do. It is beside you, helping you to recover. Now, please, Merry, rest and grow strong. Sam is right – Pippin will be terrified if he sees you so ill, and he will need your comfort, after whatever hardships he has endured. Please, dear one, sleep now."

"Frodo, I'm scared to sleep," Merry was too weak to move much having exhausted himself with his earlier thrashing around but, even so, he did not feel sleepy, "when I dream I see frightening things – things I don't want to see."

The elven healer, Gaeaf smiled kindly, "It is only your injuries that turn your dreams to nightmares. You have a fever, Meriadoc, that is why you must drink more, to cool your body."

"But there was more…" Merry was interrupted by being offered the cup once more and, this time, as Gaeaf held the goblet to his lips, he obediently took a long drink. "Thank you Sir, I'm sorry to be difficult."

Merry gulped and continued, "I think I did die and… and Legolas he did something; he saved me. I don't know how, but he did and Frodo, I think he harmed himself. Is he all right? Where is he?"

Frodo looked at Merry, puzzled. He had been told that Legolas had saved Merry's life, but he had seen and spoken to the elf, and he did not appear to be harmed in any way, though he did seem tired. But Frodo had supposed that given all they had been through, even an elf could be allowed some fatigue.

"Merry, love, Legolas is just fine. He did save your life," Frodo said. "I have seen him myself and he is not harmed. He is resting now; I understand he went through many trials to save you. Please, Merry, you must rest now, and do as the healers tell you. Surely you would not dishonour all that Legolas and the other elves who strived so hard to save you by not trying your best to recover? Perhaps when you awake, Legolas will come to reassure you himself."

"But Frodo," Merry tried to hitch himself more upright in the bed, but failed and slumped back again, "what are they doing to find Pippin? If Legolas is ill and Strider is still here, is anyone looking for him? I need to go and look for him if no one else will." Merry in his fevered state was convinced that if he did not get out of bed and look for his little cousin, no one else would trouble to. He tried to push himself upright again, using his unrestricted arm, but failed. "What if he and the others are hurt? Poor Pip will never find us again!" Merry was still on the verge of panic and the rush of adrenaline his fear for Pippin was giving him did not help matters.

"Meriadoc, if you do not lie still, I will be forced to bind your other arm." Gaeaf's tone did not leave any invitation to argue or disobey. "I will sit you up for a little while longer so you may see your friends." The healer lifted Merry to rest on the pillows once more and bolstered him on either side with two more bulky cushions. "But then you must eat and rest and any more unnecessary movement will result in the immediate ending of this visit."

As Merry was lifted up again he saw that Frodo himself looked terribly pale and realised with a new wave of guilt that he had hardly asked how Frodo and Sam had fared themselves. "What else happened, Frodo? How did you manage to get here? You're not hurt are you? Is the Ring…" Merry stopped suddenly, remembering he was not supposed to talk about that in front of strangers.

"No, no, Merry, I am well. Just a little bruised," Frodo hastened to reassure Merry, and to divert the topic of conversation. The only stranger in the room was the healer elf, but Frodo did not know who else was about, or how much information they were privy to. It seemed the best course of action was to not speak openly of his quest, or the Ring.

"Fro, I don't know what's going on, it's… all too difficult… can't seem to work it out." Merry gave a small sob as the ache in his side began to throb once more in unison with the pain in his head. "I just can't stop thinking about Pip and what…" Merry broke off, knowing that his protest would only bring more protestations of why he should not worry, but still it would not stop the fears. "Could you just sit by me Fro… and tell me something different. One of your stories, like the ones Uncle Bilbo used to make up."

Merry sighed as he thought of the untroubled evenings sitting around the fire in Bag End with Pippin nestled against him, squabbling about who got the next popped chestnut from the hearth and listening in awe to tales of dragons and dwarves and treasure. Wonderful when it was far away. Now it had all come a little too close for comfort and Merry wondered if he could ever feel the same about those romantic stories again.

"Or perhaps Sam could sing one of his funny songs." Merry stifled a sob and wiped his eye with the back of the long nightshirt sleeve. "That would be nice."

Sam was relieved that Merry had at last stopped fighting them and trying to go after Pippin. Clearly not something he was able to do, but a song? Frantically he shifted through the cluttered recesses of his memory. He remembered how much Mr Merry and the others had enjoyed his silly troll song … but that would bring back memories of that dreadful journey from Weathertop and Sam didn't want to be reminded of that terrible night. Nor remind his master or anyone else of it.

A song … a happy, silly song to cheer up Mr Merry… Sam summoned a smile from somewhere and managed to turn it into a wry grin. "If you lie there still, Mr Merry, I might be able 'ta come up with something." He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels for a moment. With a quick glance at Frodo for permission, Sam inhaled and sang softly in a sing-song voice,

"Her dress was red, the skirts a' billow  
Her golden curls tumbling down  
Her figure was trim as a wind-blown willow  
Her eyes were big and brown.

"The pretty lass walked through the Shire  
With many a heart enthral  
Such love and longing she could inspire  
But disdaining each lad's call.

"The sweet lass sang as she strolled along  
A bright and happy air  
Even the birds envied her song  
And flowers bowed to a lass so fair.

"So taken was she with her song on her way  
That she gazed up at the sky  
She thought of her love, as well she may,  
And her feet and her steps went awry.

"Better to have kept her eyes on her path  
For it had rained the previous night  
She fell in a puddle as deep as a bath  
Oh what a terrible plight!

"Up she jumped, with splutters and shrieks  
As muddy as she could be,  
Dirty and tangled, with blazing red cheeks  
She ran home, ere someone would see.

"Her beau waited long by the old oak tree  
His love did not need a reminder  
He wondered where she could possibly be  
Then at length he set out to find her.

"She opened the door and shrieked again  
For she knew she looked quite a sight  
Her hair hung limp there was mud on her face  
She was bound to give him a fright.

"The lad stood frozen, his mouth wide in shock  
His toe-hair began to curl  
The lass sighed with shame in her mud covered frock  
No longer would she be his girl.

"But the lad reached out and gathered her close  
And kissed the mud in her hair  
He asked how many their wedding should host  
And said, never had she looked more fair.

"The lad and the lass were wed in the spring,  
Their smial soon abounded with small ones,  
And their Da's favourite story, above everything,  
Was told to their daughters and sons.

"The day their Da stood outside a round door  
And stared at their mum, dirty and sore  
Mud in her hair and her dress all tore  
Who he never could love a single whit more."

Rather out of breath, Sam gulped and hoped he hadn't made too much of a fool of himself. He dared to glance at the Elf, remembering the lofty, dignified lays sung in Rivendell. The healer was probably choking back peals of laughter at his ridiculous doggerel. Gaeaf was smiling at him. Encouraged, Sam straightened and shot an embarrassed grin at his master.

"Sam!" Frodo exclaimed. "You never cease to amaze me. That was lovely, and it did my heart good to hear it right now, and Merry's, too, I am certain."

"It's very funny Sam," Merry finally managed a small imitation of a smile, "did you make it out of your own head?"

"Of course, we both know that Sam sings more than he lets on." Frodo cast a sly, yet fond, look at his servant. "Everyone knows the rule at Bag End, don't they, Meriadoc? Quiet down and listen when you hear Sam start to sing, and don't let on that you can hear him lest he stop! I haven't heard him down at the Dragon – unlike other certain young hobbits I could name – but I'll wager that a certain young Bywater lass has heard him sing a time or two. What do you think, Merry? Has Sam showed off his talents to roses other than the ones outside my study window?"

"I shouldn't be surprised." Merry agreed, "Why half the lasses in Hobbiton and Bywater are after young Samwise, but I think he has vowed to wait for mid-Summer – for that's when the true Rose appears."

Sam blushed a bright red at Merry's gentle teasing, caught between mortification and pride that his master had so cleverly distracted the lad from his fears and pain. Merry's response to Frodo's question indicated more clearly than words that the injured hobbit's mind had retreated back to less anxious times. Sam would gladly endure any amount of banter if it made Mr Merry feel better.

"That might be so, Mr Merry," Sam returned with as much dignity as he could muster, "but that's more up to the lass than me."

"You're too modest Sam," Frodo nudged Sam suggestively with a sly wink at Merry. "She's yours for the asking and you know it."

"**_Mr Frodo!"_**

0-0-0-0-0-0

The party set out again with Llygoden in the lead, followed by Wiwer, now carrying Pippin, while Boromir and Draenog took an arm each side of Gimli and almost carried the dwarf along at a good pace. By nightfall they had reached the flet and, with some difficulty, hauled the protesting dwarf up onto the platform.

Wiwer had climbed up lightly with Pippin balanced easily across his shoulder, but as soon as he had set the hobbit down and wrapped him in spare covers that were kept on the flet, Pippin began to moan and thrash about and eventually, opened his eyes and pushed himself up on his elbows, looking groggily up at the company. "Boromir…" Pippin whispered the name urgently. "Boromir, where am I? I need to… you know… now!"

One of the elves moved to pick him up from the nest of rugs, but Pippin petulantly hugged his arms around himself and refused to be lifted. "No, please, I just want Boromir. It's just… well, please… ohhhh! my poor tummy!"

Boromir let a small smile curl the corners of his mouth, glad to see the little one waking but worried nonetheless at his distress, although this was not the first time he had seen one of the hobbits with a bellyache after over-indulging at trencher or board. "Come then Pippin, but you must be quick, as we may be under attack and need the safety of this platform."

"Don't worry, Boromir," Pippin climbed shakily to his feet, "I'll certainly be quick. Oh good heavens, where are we?" Pippin suddenly realised that he was looking at the upper branches of the trees, standing on a flimsy platform and that the ground was nowhere in sight. "Boromir, please get me down from here – quickly!"

"Yes, get him down Boromir," Gimli could see the terrified expression on the hobbit's face, although whether that was from fear of the flet, anxiety about attack or just his aching belly, the dwarf was not sure. "You'd best hurry, he does nae look too good."

Without further encouragement, Boromir hoisted the groaning Pippin over his shoulder and carried him back down from the flet and guided him to a nearby bush. When they finally returned, Pippin climbed by himself with Boromir's reassurance and guiding hand and complained his way back onto the platform. White-faced the hobbit sank back into the heap of rugs and curled up, still clutching his stomach and still moaning and groaning with pain.

"Listen," Draenog held his hand up for silence and then breathed the word, "Yrch!"

"Hush if you can, little perian," Wiwer put his hand on Pippin's back and rubbed soothingly, "You must be quiet, the orcs are near and they will discover us."

But Pippin could not be silenced. He was feverish now and the ache in his stomach had not abated. "I can't… aiiieeee! It's hurting so … sorry I ate those cakes, why did they make me ill… ewwwch!"

"Peace – be still, little one." Wiwer reached into his bag and once more drew forth the wooden box. He scooped some more of the paste onto his finger and put it in Pippin's mouth. "You ate too many, that's why. Eat this now, just suck it and don't…Ew-ouch!" The elf hastily withdrew his finger as Pippin, in his agony, bit down on the alien thing in his mouth.

Gimli tried to suppress a guffaw, "Ah you see, some hobbits never learn, that one'll eat anything that's put in his mouth!"

Boromir, hid his smile behind his hand, before offering to help. "Does Pippin need more of that medicine?" He enquired with a frown. "Will the pain not abate soon?"

"It may, although I suspect the perian will be in considerable discomfort for the next day and night." Wiwer said, standing and sucking at his own sore finger. "The paste will make him sleep and also keep him quiet – his moaning could be the ruin of all of us if the orcs find our flet."

Boromir took the box from the elf's hand. "How much is safe?" he asked, sniffing suspiciously at the contents.

"Just two more fingerfuls," Wiwer looked balefully at the innocent faced halfling, who had now gone back to groaning and rocking with his hands clutched about his middle. "Although I would not recommend using your own finger."

"No, I shall not," Boromir agreed. Moving Pippin upright, he caught hold of the hobbit's hand and pulled his thumb out straight. Carefully he dipped the tiny digit into the box and scooped a liberal helping of the paste onto it and squatting next to his patient, stuck Pippin's thumb in his mouth. "Here Master Peregrin, I've seen you suck your thumb in your sleep and now it has something on it to make you feel better."

"Yech! Boromir," Pippin paused from his moaning to pull his thumb from his mouth and look at it with disgust. "It tastes foul! What have you put on it?"

"Medicine for your…erm… indigestion," Boromir told him simply. "Now take it like a good hobbit." With that the man scooped Pippin's thumb into the box again and, holding Pippin's nose, put the remedy into his open mouth. "Don't spit it out." Boromir warned. "If you eat things that make you ill, you have to have the cure as well."

Pippin said nothing but made a face, working the unpleasant mixture around with his jaws and finally yawning. He flopped over on to his side with a groan and closed his eyes, still holding tightly to his aching belly with one hand, his thumb in his mouth with the other.

"Shhhh!" Draenog hissed urgently. He flapped his arm at them to indicate complete silence as through the trees below a thumping noise could be heard, accompanied by the sound of tearing foliage and swearing in the Common Tongue.

The occupants of the flet froze in silence as the noise grew closer, all save Pippin who had begun to snore gently.

"Where da fug did dem stinkin' rats get ta?" A voice carried clearly up to them, "Gugna youse saw dem last, where was dey?"

"Yeah an' I was runnin' fer me stinkin' life, cuz youse bastids left me ta do it all! 'ow's 'm I s'possed ta know where dey is?"

"Yeowwweee!" Pippin rolled over suddenly and let out a great scream. "Aeiiiee! Merry, it hurts, ohhh Merry!"

"Shhhh… hush little one!" Boromir was at his side, "Sorry Pip, you have to be quiet." With the apology that he knew the hobbit would not hear, he placed his great hand over Pippin's mouth. "Hush… shhh… shhh…" he soothed.

"Was 'at? Comed from up dere!" The cry had been too loud for the orcs not to have heard it.

All three elves took careful aim over the side of the flet, hoping to pick off the leaders. They felled the first five orcs, before the creatures had worked out where the attack came from, but this group was at least thirty strong.

"Get a fire going!" Shouted a voice, "Round that bleedin' tree a' course!"

"What's happening?" Gimli breathed. "What're they doing – those infernal _dreucachea_!"

"They're going to smoke us out, I imagine." Boromir was holding and rocking Pippin who was now sleeping, "either that or they want to keep us nice and warm tonight."

To Be Continued.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Hello readers.

Well I guess it's me, Meriadoc (the Magnificent, if I do say so myself), again – everyone else seems to have gone home!

**_Aranna Undomiel:_** was really nice to see that alert in my mailbox once again  
**_Merry:_** And really nice to see a review from you.

**_Aranna Undomiel_**: Now all I'm waiting for is the reunion with Pippin and everything will be fine,  
**_Merry:_** Whoops! I'm afraid you may have to keep watching that mailbox for alerts.

**_DarkessLady_**: This is just simply amazing. Heck, I still can't believe this was written by eight different people. All of whom have different styles of writing and yet it all fits in.  
**_Merry: _**But only one editor remember!

**_cookiefleck:_** The in-character replies to the reviews are also entertaining and I'll have to check out the Behind The Scenes, too.  
**_Merry_**: Well we gave up publishing that, as no one seemed interested in my wheeling and dealing… I mean, my important business transactions. Still, if you really want it...

**_smalldiver:_** Poor Merry though. Who's going to tell him that Pippin was lost in Moria? **_  
Merry_**: What! Ohmigod! Pippin's lost in Moria? Nobody told me!

**_ziyal:_** Yay, I love the fact that Merry is on the rode to recovery and they are all close to reunion!**_  
Merry_**: Well that's a relief! Smalldiver had me worried there, but now you say it's going to be all right!

**_Aya-Shoru:_** I am glad Legolas didn't lose his immortality, that would have been too heart breaking. anyway I am ready for more Legolas action, if you have more planned. update soon.**_  
Merry: _**Excuse me?**_  
Legolas: _**I'll field this one, Merry, you get some rest. May I enquire exactly what sort of Legolas action you had in mind dear lady? (You are a lady – right?) I am available every second Tuesday in Overlithe by the Perian calendar and Action is my middle name, so I would be more than happy to take you up on your kind offer. I trust you will be ready and waiting for me? We could play "hide the immortal soul" or something like that. I guess it would be a kind of date, or as you put it, an update.

**_Pip4:_** Aw, that was a nice sweet chapter. I like that Legolas's immortality isn't gone and the little thing with Orophin, Celeborn and Galadriel. And it was cool the very end when Merry got to finally meet up with Frodo and Sam. But there wasn't anything about Pippin, Gimli, and Boromir.**_  
Merry: _**Well they can't be in everything, not if Legolas is working so hard at being sweet and I'm busy being cool.

**_IceEmber_**: Definitely by next chapter, yes?**_  
Merry: _**But then it would all be over and the poor authors would have to write another, and you wouldn't want that – would you? Well I wouldn't, I've suffered enough at their hands.

**_LOTRFaith:_** Whoops in pure happiness... Then accidentally hits the glass bottle of lemonade and sends it crashing to the floor  
**_Merry: Oh my goodness! You had better send the bill for your lemonade and cleaning to:  
_**Frodo Baggins  
Bearer of The One Ring  
Wielder of Sting  
Master of Bag End  
Saviour of Middle-earth  
Elf-Friend  
Restorer of the United Kingdom  
He Who Made the Return of the King a Reality and Not a Pipe Dream

By the way, that last bit was a shameless plug for "_**Behind the Scenes**_", the notes which accompany this story, and tell the shenanigans that went on with the characters while they were not required on set. A new chapter may well be posted along with this. Keep watching the skies.

Additional Shameless Plug for Llinos (because she made me do it). She has a new story called **_Frodo's Exciting Day Out_** and if you enjoyed the writing in this chapter, you may well like this one too.

That's all for this time,

Yours truly,

Meriadoc the Magnificent


	18. Drugs and Desperation

**The East Gate  
**Authors The Eastgaters (actually Llinos)

Cast list: Frodo, Samwise, Pippin, Merry, Legolas, Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli and everyone else – Llinos  
In this chapter none of the original players were available and were all understudied by Llinos

Story Editor **Llinos**  
Beta **Marigold**

Chapter 18  
**Drugs and Desperation**

How is that, Merry-lad?" Frodo asked, turning and placing a hand on Merry's cheek. "Did you like Sam's song?"

Merry muttered sleepily, he was still resisting rest but far more weakly now and was having to fight to stay awake.

"You always loved a droll song when you didn't feel good as a lad." Frodo carried on talking in a low soporific voice. "Do you remember when your mother threw me out of your room when you were sick with a stomach upset and I decided to cheer you up by singing that funny song about the goat-herder and the milking maid and the hay waggon that Uncles Dinnie and Donnie taught me? I didn't know myself what it was really about; poor Aunt Gilda nearly fainted when she heard about the whole mess. Your mum told me years later that she locked herself in her room and laughed until she cried about it though; did you know that, Merry?"

Merry would not forget that song in a hurry. The hobbit had a good memory for words and although he had been too ill at the time to recall all of the song Frodo had sung to him, he realised afterwards that it had produced a violent reaction from Grandma and his mother had tutted with her warning frown, as well as getting Fro banished from his room.

After that Merry, his curiosity burning, had hunted the song down and managed to coax fragments of it from his Uncles until eventually, unknown to his mother or Frodo, he had learned the whole thing and had been known to perform it in the Green Dragon on rare, male only, occasions. Now, as Frodo stroked his hair and murmured softly about those happy days, the bawdy song about the goat-herder came back and ran through Merry's mind.

But in his sleepy state though Merry could not quite remember it all and suddenly it seemed important that he should. Rousing a little he grabbed at Frodo's hand, "Sing it for me Fro, please, sing it now."

"Merry this is hardly the place… I mean Sam and…" Frodo nodded towards the elven healer and Aragorn. "I already got into trouble for singing it to you the first time."

"Please Fro," Merry mumbled, "Sam won't mind, he knows bawdier songs than that one. I can't remember the words and if I start to forget things… then I know I'm losing my mind and… and…"

"Merry-lad," Frodo patted Merry's hand in his. "You're not losing your mind, but if I sing it to you will you try to rest?"

"Uhum… will Fro… will try…"

Frodo cleared his throat and, his face turning slight red, began in a light skipping voice…

"A goatherd lived in days of yore  
Who loved his ale and baccy,  
He'd lie abed all day and snore,  
But he was the Master's lackie!

_Chorus_  
_Sing barley oats and billy goats!  
Sing nanny dids and little kids!  
_  
The goats would cry around his door,  
Their coats weren't clean or silken,  
They'd eaten all the grass before,  
And the nannies needed milkin'. _  
_  
Then one day the Master saw  
His lazy servant shirking,  
He whacked his sit-upon out the door,  
And said "now get you working!"

The goat-herd spied a comely lass,  
She was the farmer's daughter,  
He called to her as bold as brass,  
And her legs turned into water.

"Oh can you milk my goats?" he said,  
"Most handsomely you'll be paid."  
The lass she blushed and nodded her head,  
She was the silliest milkmaid.

The goatherd climbed a wagon tall,  
And slept in the hay so soft,  
He snored until she'd done it all,  
And called to him aloft.

"Master come your flock to see,"  
Called out the pretty miss,  
"What now shall my payment be?"  
He answered back, "A kiss!"

Down he jumped and caught her arm,  
And pulled her bosom close,  
The maid wailed out in great alarm,  
And hit him on the nose.

"Come now pretty wench," said he,  
"Your breasts are soft and silken,  
"I'll give you bonus in your fee,  
"This bosom's ripe for milkin'!"

"Oh sir unhand me now!" she said,  
"I'm a damsel pure and chaste,  
"You may not pluck my maidenhead,  
"Please to curb your haste!"

"But I insist you shall be paid!"  
The goatherd cried in rage,  
"This kiss is yours, you foolish maid,  
"Come and get your wage!"

The maiden struggled her dress all torn,  
The goats began to bleat,  
Till the big old Billy lowered his horns,  
And butted him off his feet.

Over the wagon the goatherd flew,  
To the far side he was flung,  
And was upside-down before he knew,  
Headfirst in the dung.

The moral of this story true,  
Is choose your friends with wit,  
Then treat them kindly, for if you do,  
You won't wind up in the shhhhhhh… now go to sleep Merry!"

"Thank you Fro," Merry sleepily giggled and yawned as Frodo finished his song. Then, although still fighting the weariness caused by his terrible injury, lost the battle to keep his eyes open. This was also greatly aided by the drink that Gaeaf had given him, the sleeping draught took a while to work, as it was gentle, but still most effective once it took hold. "Whassat… what you say-sayimmumm…" Another yawn followed as Merry tried to open his eyes once more, but failed and gradually his breathing evened out into a rhythm that would be quick for a human but was a slow sleeping pace for a little hobbit.

Even the sound of the door opening and closing did not awaken the sleeping hobbit as Legolas came quietly into the chamber. He looked down at the peaceful form on the bed and smiled. "I am glad Merry is resting, I feared greatly during our journey here that he would worry himself into a terrible state in his anxiety for Pippin." Legolas leaned forward and kissed Merry's brow, eliciting a slight whimper and sigh. "You obviously calmed his fears better than I could."

"Well," Frodo admitted with a wry grin, "I know his brand of lullabies."

"It was not completely plain sailing," Aragorn stepped forward and raised his eyebrows tellingly at Gaeaf, "I think your kinsman here aided Merry's repose with a little tincture of something."

"There was no need for the little one to fret so," Gaeaf did not look up from his present task of measuring various coloured liquids from one glass vial to another. "It achieves nothing but to make him feverish and sick."

"We however, can do something." Aragorn looked meaningfully at Legolas, "That is if you are quite recovered yourself, my friend?"

"I am rested thank you." Legolas bowed slightly towards the Ranger, "I was somewhat… drained, but am assured that no long term damage has occurred."

"You gave Merry of your life-force in order to save him." Aragorn spoke quietly now, not wanting Frodo or Sam to hear his words, "or so I understand. It was a noble act Legolas."

"My intent was to do anything to save Merry," Legolas whispered also, "but the Valar took little from me and intervened on Meriadoc's behalf. The hobbits… well these particular hobbits, dwell within Their Grace it would seem."

"There may still be one in need of the help we can render." Aragorn nodded towards the sleeping Merry with Frodo and Sam still sitting by him; concern written on their anxious, careworn faces. "Pippin is still not accounted for and Merry is fretting deeply for news of him and I know the others are equally concerned, although they are trying to mask it for fear of increasing Meriadoc's anxiety. Gimli and Boromir are with him, but they too may be injured and the scouting parties of elves from Lórien have yet to bring word of any of them."

"You think we should go in search of the missing ones?" Legolas, in spite of the gravity of the situation, could not prevent a small half smile at the thought of rescuing an indignant Gimli. "I would be more than willing to set out again. Shall we leave at once?"

"I see no reason to delay." Aragorn knelt to take Frodo's hand and smiled kindly, "Legolas and I are going in search of the others, if your fretful little cousin awakes again, please tell him we are doing all we can to find Pippin, Boromir and Gimli."

Without waiting for a response, Aragorn stood and, patting Sam reassuringly on the shoulder, followed Legolas out of the door and down into the sanctuary of the Lórien trees.

"As I understand the situation," Legolas began as he collected his bow and light pack, "scouting parties of the Galadhrim have come back from the North and North West. I doubt there would be news of our friends from the South or East, so I suggest we travel directly West and hope to find some trace of them."

"I have what little I need," Aragorn smiled, glad to be called to action once more. "Let us waste no time."

After begging leave from the Lady Galadriel and telling her of their plan, the two intrepid companions set out in hope that they might succeed where the Galadhrim had so far failed and retrieve their lost friends. Although both Aragorn and Legolas admired and trusted the elves of Lothlórien, there was a rapport that had grown among the Fellowship of the Ring that might give them an advantage.

They journeyed the whole of that day and by nightfall, just as the light was deserting Aragorn's tracking eyes and Legolas's far vision, they found an Elven arrow stuck high in a tree and not retrieved.

"A battle took place here," Aragorn examined the ground carefully, "there are tracks of both orcs and elves here… and something else."

"A hobbit do you think?" Legolas suggested, "Or perhaps a dwarf."

"No, a hobbit I would know." Aragorn rubbed a little of the dirt through his fingers. "Blood has been spilt here, but I think it is from an orc. The tracks are very mixed and hard to discern, but I think at least one body was being carried and another was using some kind of crutch or walking stick."

"So you think the party that was attacked by orcs were most likely injured?" Legolas looked at the earth frowning. Although his eyesight was keen and his senses good, the ground did not reveal its secrets to him as it did to the Ranger.

"A group of about three, maybe four, elves stood here and one carried a body, possibly a hobbit by the depth of the footprints. Two others, in armour, Boromir and Gimli I hope, rested here, but it is hard to tell." Aragorn stood up and dusted his hands off, "Whoever they were, the group was attacked by orcs and either fled the scene or were defeated and carried off."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Well Sam," As Legolas and Aragorn left the room Frodo looked down fondly at the deeply sleeping Meriadoc. "At least if Merry wakens again, we'll have something positive to tell him about the hunt for Pippin."

"Do you think they'll find him Mr Frodo?" Sam had great faith in the Ranger, but even more in his Master's opinion. "I mean, it didn't look so good when we left them, if you see what I mean."

"Oh Sam," Frodo sighed a deep breath, "please don't you start thinking the worst. It's bad enough having to chivvy Merry along. I really need you to be strong right now."

"I'm sorry Mr Frodo," Sam could find very little to be optimistic about the possibility of the survival of the three they had abandoned to their fate in the mines, and yet, if Frodo needed him to be positive, then he'd do his very best. "Maybe we should think on other things. Will you stay and watch over Mr Merry? The Healer says he'll be asleep a long while now."

"It wouldn't be the first time I've sat vigil over this one." Frodo smiled, "like the time he fell out of the party tree."

Sam remembered the occasion as his father had told the story in great detail, particularly is own role in finding Pippin. Nevertheless, Sam decided the retelling would be a good distraction. "What happened Mr Frodo?"

0-----------------------0

Of course, Merry himself knew little of what had occurred at the time and for several days afterwards. That had made the enormity of the situation worse. It had been an accident, but Merry still felt an abiding guilt, that had never really left him.

He had been keeping an eye on Pippin in the field behind Bag End. Or rather was supposed to be watching him, but he had been distracted by some older lads who had caught frogs and were having jumping races with them. When the lads had gone, Merry turned to his little cousin and Pippin was suddenly nowhere to be seen.

Merry realised that he had probably just wandered off into the long grass and, as he was so small, would be hard to spot. Rather than traipse all around the field shouting, knowing that the two year old would probably not come when called anyway, Merry climbed up into the Party tree to see if he could spot him from there.

He saw him almost at once, about to put something in his mouth. Merry fearing it might be a poisonous berry, the brightest ones were always deadly, shouted out in panic, "No Pip! No! Not in your mouth!" But as he called out, he had lost his balance and tumbled headfirst out of the tree and lain still, unconscious and deathly white.

Although he had not known about it until Frodo coaxed the tale from the little one a week later, Pippin had apparently toddled over to Merry and sat stroking his face, trying to make him talk. Eventually, realising that his big cousin wasn't going to answer, he had attempted to go through the gate to Bag End, but, as he was too small to open it, had crawled under the hedge and out onto the road instead. There Pippin had actually wandered as far as Hobbiton and was found sitting and crying at the edge of The Water by Hamfast Gamgee.

When questioned, The Gaffer had not been able to make out what the toddler was sobbing, "My Mer goed bumpsy daisy on the twee!"

He had picked the little one up and carried him, shivering with fright, to Bag End. Frodo had then questioned him gently and, speaking fluent baby Pippin, had ascertained that Merry had fallen 'bumpsy daisy' out of the tree and "gone night-nights and not sayed no things to Pip."

He and Bilbo fled to the spot and found their young cousin in a bad way. Frodo had wanted to send for Saradoc and Esmeralda at once, but Bilbo fetched the healer, who cautioned against panic and advised them to wait 24 hours. She had also suggested they talk and sing to him, which both hobbits had done through the anxious hours.

0-----------------------0

"The rest you know of course," Frodo reached out and touched his sleeping cousin's cheek with the back of his fingers. "Merry pulled through, Pippin was none the worse for the incident and your gaffer mended the hole in the hedge."

Sam chuckled at this. "Aye, it wouldn't have done to let even a two year old Pippin out loose again – not for many a year."

"You knew this story already," Frodo frowned at his gardener, "didn't you?"

"Yes, Mr Frodo," Sam admitted, "my gaffer told it to me many times. But it's good to hear it again."

"Yes Sam, you're right." The recounting of the story gave both the hobbits some heart. "When Merry fell from the tree, Pip was only two going on three. He was very little and must have been so scared." Frodo remembered how fragile the toddler had felt nestling in his arms and stuttering out his story. "But he still coped and he probably saved Merry's life. We should have more faith in him – especially now."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Aragorn, working against the fading light, quickly found more telling signs. "An orc ran through here and…" The Ranger stopped mid-flow as the sight of four piled up orc bodies told the rest of the story. "Ah! Here then are the attackers. The only question is, did the opposition manage to kill all, or did some escape to fetch reinforcements?"

"Let us hope they did not." Legolas viewed the heap of orc carcasses with distaste. "These foul creatures have caused enough havoc amongst our Fellowship for the past few days."

"I fear that may be a vain hope my friend." Aragorn walked a little further on, his eyes sweeping back and forth across the ground. "The company moved on in great haste I would think, in this direction, North of Caras Galadhon. It would seem they were seeking urgent refuge."

They travelled on through the dusk, finding clues; newly disturbed grass, the odd broken twig, sometimes a mark or print on sandy ground, things that normal, unschooled eyes would not even register. At length they paused again, standing quietly to catch the sound of cries upon the wind. Mixed voices, the screech of orcs and over it the unmistakable cry of a distressed hobbit.

"I will climb aloft and see what may lie ahead." Legolas swiftly fled up the tallest tree in their vicinity and surveyed the terrain. Above the enclosing branches there was still enough light for Elven eyes to see a great distance. "There is something about half a league due East of here. It looks like smoke." Legolas climbed back down, "Do you suppose they would light a fire, it would seem folly to me."

"Perhaps," Aragorn said, "although maybe the smoke is not of their making. But the tracks lead in that direction anyway, so I think we must take that path with all haste. That cry – it **_was_** Pippin!"

The pair spoke no more but ran as fast as the uneven ground and trees would allow, following first the sounds and then the pungent smell of the smoke as well. They approached the circle of orcs with stealth, one moving to the left and the other to the right, until they were at opposite sides of the ring.

The thirty or so orcs stood around the tree, shouting and jeering, their backs were to the two hunters so they could not see two well sprung bows drawn back, twenty arrows apiece waiting in each quiver to find its way to an unsuspecting orc's throat.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Boromir was relieved that the medicine had finally taken effect on Pippin. The little one was now sleeping like a newborn babe in his arms as the orc fire began to take hold below.

The three elves were still attempting to pick off the orcs from above, but the angle was difficult and the creatures wise to where the offending arrows were likely to come from.

Keeping under the cover of the flet itself, they piled dead leaves up against the bole of the tree and set light to it, then ran a safe distance away to begin a wild whooping dance in a circle around it.

"Ach! We did our best." Gimli sighed in exasperation. "Too bad for it to end here, caught in a tree like my father before me. Except he had Gandalf to summon the eagles to get him out of such a mess. I doubt you know any eagles do you Boromir?" Gimli did not look especially hopeful at the prospect, but it seemed appropriate to ask.

"I'm sorry my friend," Boromir gave a half smile, "I'm afraid I must move in different circles to your kin. I know no eagles, or other birds for that matter. I just regret the fate of the little one. What should we do with him? Dispatch him now, painlessly, in his sleep? I dread to think what the orcs might do with him."

"It would be a hard task for you I think my friend." Gimli sighed. "I have seen the care you have taken of the hobbits, especially this one and his cousin. Perhaps you should ask one of those elves to give him some extra medicine if you know what I mean."

Boromir nodded, "That might be the kindest way."

Below the orcs' screeching had seemed to reach a frenzied pitch, as if they sensed the end was near. Certainly Boromir could see the flames now beginning to catch light to the edge of the flet. "Wiwer," the man called to the elf with the wooden box. "Could you give the little one more of the medicine? Perhaps enough to ensure he does not suffer."

Wiwer looked at his brothers and shrugged. They both nodded in tacit agreement. The elf took the box from his bag and came over to where Boromir sat cradling Pippin. Silently he removed the lid and scooped up a large amount of the paste and, catching hold of Pippin's jaw, forced his mouth open and pushed the opiate inside.

**To Be Continued** (_sorry)_

**_Author's Notes:_** Pippin here for once! Thought I'd just get a word in before anything else dreadful happens to me! I must aplopo… polgyz…apol… say sorry on behalf of the authors again. They really should have finished the story by now, especially as I'm not looking too good at the mo!

However, I have good news and bad news.

The good news is, that the next chapter will be the last! (I think that's good news)

The bad news is, that the next chapter will be the last! (I think that's also bad news)!

The other news is, that it is already written! And will be along in two shakes of a lamb's foot!

**_Merry:_** That's lamb's tail Pippin!

**_Pippin:_** Not on my lambs Merry, they like to shake feet when they meet someone.

**_Merry:_** Don't be silly!

**_Pippin:_** Why not?

**_Merry_**: Umm… Are you going to do the Questions and Answers?

**_Pippin:_** No, I'm going to the pub.

**_Merry:_** So it's me again then? Pip? **_Pippin_**! Sigh!

**Q&A**

**_EVIL MANIAC:_** A lot of your elves have Welsh names: Squirrel, Hedgehog, Mouse, Winter... and you've also got the Cottage Flet. I notice these things...  
**_Merry: _**Yes, it's because Llinos confuses Sindarin with Cymraeg all the time. She is a writer of little brain and even less imagination!**_  
EVIL MANIAC:_** Poor Merry… Can you give him this (extraordinarily large) box of chocolates for me?  
**_Merry:_** snarffle, chomp, chomp! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm! Mmfanks a glob… yummglump!  
**_EVIL MANIAC:_** And don't forget Merry's chocolates:)  
**_Merry_**: Groannnnn! My tummy hurts – but I think I love you! Will you marry me?

**_lindahoyland:_** Poor Merry and Pippin! I hope they escape the orcs. Sam was great in this chapter.  
**_Sam:_** Just this chapter? Hmmmpff!  
**_Merry:_** Oh ignore him. Thanks for the good luck wishes with the orcs!

**_IceEmber:_** OO Good gracious! Well I have to admit, I love a bit of Pippin torture every now and then. Poor Merry, he really loves his cousin.  
**_Merry_**: Yes… yes I do! You noticed that eh?

**_Sawyerslover_**: that was really good please continue as soon as possible  
**_Merry_**: You mean like a pizza with extra toppings (onions, olives, mushrooms and more mushrooms, pepperoni, and mushrooms.) Or good like two pints of ale followed by a pint of ale? Because those are the sort of things I like to continue.

**_Pip4_**: Poor Pippin, I didn't know Lembas could do that, it kinda sounds like what rice does to birds.  
**_Merry:_** Yes…it almost put him off eating (**_almost_**)! Although it apparently hasn't curbed his appetite for ale! Pip! Wait for me! Get a round in, you son of a hobbit!


	19. Dead or Alive

**The East Gate**

Cast list: Frodo, Samwise, Pippin, Merry, Legolas, Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli and everyone else – **_Llinos_**  
_In this chapter none of the original players were available and were all understudied by Llinos_

Story Editor **_Llinos_**  
Beta **_Marigold_**

Chapter 19  
**Dead or Alive**

As the arrows flew, one after the other from both Legolas' and Aragorn's bows the orcs were thrown into disarray and then panic. They had not expected any attack, as they believed this group were completely isolated, and so, were intent upon enjoying their victory.

Ten fell dead in the first thirty seconds and another five followed in the ensuing mayhem as the circle was broken and orcs rushed in every direction trying to escape their unseen assailants.

Legolas pursued another six into the woods, picking each off with a deadly accuracy honed over many ages. Aragorn set to with his sword and before long, five more orcs lay dead to the Ranger's skill, the remainder ran for their lives.

The threat of the orcs now passed, still the danger of the fire remained to those atop the flet. "Have you a rope?" Legolas called up, "Lower it over the far side, the fire is less there and we will try to beat it back." So saying, he and Aragorn scooped up handfuls of dirt to throw against the flames on that side, dousing the blaze as best they could.

Draenog had followed the battle from above and could only watch in relief and surprise, since his supply of arrows was finished. However, once the orcs had fallen or fled, he quickly found rope and dropped it over the side. Then, looking up, realised with horror that the others did not realise their siege had been relieved. "Hold!" he cried, "Do not give the little one more opium! We have a chance now if we can escape the flames."

Boromir looked up in startled surprise. Pippin had already been given a large dose of the drug and was working his mouth up and down in his sleep, trying to rid himself of the strange taste. Frantically Wiwer pulled the hobbit's jaw open again and, holding the mouth open firmly to avoid being bitten, scraped his finger around the inside of Pippin's mouth clearing away as much of the paste as he could find. "Hold him upright!" The elf ordered Boromir.

Taking a water bottle now, Wiwer poured a copious amount into Pippin's unresisting mouth and Boromir swilled the liquid around then held Pippin forward so that the water would dribble out again. "How much do you think he's had?" The man asked anxiously.

"Enough, that's for certain," The elf shook his head, then leaned his patient forward and pushed his finger all the way down Pippin's throat, making him retch and finally heave. He brought very little up but then he had not eaten for a day and the lembas was probably all but digested now. What little he coughed out was mostly the offending paste. "The little one obviously has an iron constitution to have managed six lembas loaves in the first place, his system may be able to cope with this."

"Let us escape from the flames first and then hope your words are true Wiwer." Draenog began fastening the rope around a, for once, unresisting Gimli. "Help me to lower Master Dwarf down and then we will follow. All three elves took a hand in carefully easing the injured dwarf over the side of the flet into the waiting arms of Aragorn and Legolas.

"Gimli! You are hurt!" Legolas forgot his triumphant words of heroic rescue from the jaws of death when he saw the swollen bandaged leg. Suddenly the crutch marks in the tracks fell into place. "Is the leg broken? It must be painful."

"Nay, 'tis but a scratch." The dwarf actually welcomed the chance to make light of his injury in front of the elf. "The little one is in more dire need of healing."

Wiwer took the rope next and lowered himself using one hand with Pippin slung over his shoulder. The others followed in quick succession. Aragorn took Pippin from the elf as he reached the ground and laid him down. "What ails the hobbit? He seems to be very peaceful."

"A little too peaceful." Boromir felt Pippin's brow and patted his face to try for a reaction. "He was already sick from eating too much waybread – lembas – in one go, so Wiwer here," Aragorn nodded to the elf indicated, "gave him medicine, opium I think, to ease his pain. But when we thought our situation hopeless, we gave him more so that he would not suffer at the hands of the orcs."

"There is naught else to do now," Wiwer said, "I have made him vomit and I do not think there is more to be gained from that. He will sleep and hopefully awaken none the worse for the experience."

Aragorn put his ear to Pippin's chest to listen to his heartbeat, fast for a man, but slow for a hobbit, then carefully felt his breathing, slow and a little too shallow. His own heart picked up pace as he realised that the hobbit was in a poorly way. "We must hurry!" he lifted Pippin up into his own arms. "There will be more skill to heal him in Caras Galadhon than I think is among us."

"Yes," Wiwer agreed, he made hurried introductions of his two brothers and Aragorn and Legolas reciprocated. "I will conduct you with all speed to the heart of our land and Draenog and Llygoden can follow on with Master Gimli."

Boromir leaned over Aragorn and kissed Pippin lightly on the brow. "Carry him to safety my friend," he said, "I will stay by Gimli as I might slow your progress. Farewell until we meet again, hopefully in happier circumstances."

Legolas was torn between the two groups. Pippin looked so small and helpless but his conscience was tinged with guilt at his planned triumphalism over the dwarf and now seeing him so badly hurt it seemed petty and unworthy. "I shall stay and help Master Gimli," he declared. "You will carry Pippin faster with just two." '_Besides_,' Legolas thought, '_I managed to lose the other hobbit twice, dwarves are much harder to misplace.'_

Aragorn nodded his agreement and without further ado followed Wiwer through the trees, the hobbit resting upon his shoulder, his head tucked up against the Ranger's face.

0-0-0-0-0-0

The journey was uneventful, Pippin showed no signs of stirring and after two hours of travel, with no rests, they reached Caras Galadhon. Aragorn relinquished his burden, but he and Wiwer followed the elves that took Pippin up to the higher chamber where the Lady looked upon the sleeping hobbit. She touched his eyes lightly and smiled at the Ranger and elf. "Do not worry, the little one will awaken, his life-force is young and strong. Yet even in his sleep he has a fear," Galadriel looked knowingly at Aragorn, "he pines for his cousin, fearing that he may have perished."

"That does not surprise me my Lady." Aragorn bowed his head as he spoke. "I will lie him alongside Meriadoc, who also frets for Peregrin, perhaps even in sleep they will be comforted by each others' presence."

As Aragorn entered Merry's chamber he was glad to see that the older cousin was still sleeping. Carefully he laid Pippin down beside Merry, making sure he was on the opposite side to the hobbit's wound. "There," he whispered, "sleep soundly until morning light and then you will be reunited at last." As he left the chamber he smiled to see Merry, without waking, wind his arm around Pippin's neck.

The Ranger guessed that Frodo and Sam had finally gone to take some rest and considered going back to meet the remaining three members of the Fellowship, but then decided they could manage quite well without him. Especially as he now felt extremely weary and, satisfied that he had done all he could for that day, allowed himself to be shown to a sleeping chamber of his own.

Meanwhile, Legolas and Boromir had supported Gimli for most of the trip. The dwarf had finally succumbed to offers of help and allowed the elf and the man to take most of his weight upon their bent shoulders, finally permitting them to lift him bodily off the ground, since it was less strain for them to carry him than to stoop constantly.

Thus they finally made their weary way to the innermost part of the Golden Wood and Gimli the dwarf was the first of his kind to lay his eyes upon that beautiful realm since Durin's Day and a marvellous wonder he found it. But the greatest awe fell upon him when the Lady of the Golden Wood herself came forth to meet him.

The dwarf's mouth fell open and he stammered in embarrassment, "I-I had not dreamed this place con-concealed so fair a treasure, My Lady. I am honoured beyond words to look upon a beauty that rivals the Golden Wood itself."

"Your tongue is as precious as the metals you mine, Master Gimli," The Lady laughed, "But you are hurt and weary beyond measure. Be at rest now and take comfort from the healers of this realm."

Boromir bowed low, "The courtesy of the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn is unprecedented in our travels, I thank you both deeply."

Legolas patted Gimli on the shoulder, "I regret Master Dwarf that we did not find the hospitality of the dwarves after all, perhaps one day. But in the meantime I hope the hospitality of the elves will make up for your loss."

So with polite bows and great relief the last three members of the Fellowship who had survived the East Gate, were shown to fair beds and offered refreshment and aid for their wounds before falling into a deep, replenishing sleep, that lasted past the first light of the new day.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Merry?" Pippin's eyes squinted half open, although he was aware of his older cousin beside him long before his eyes confirmed that he was indeed there. "Are you asleep?" Pippin wondered in his delight if the rules about not waking Merry applied if you have been separated from your dearest friend, believing him to be dead and thinking you have died yourself, only to wake and discover him sleeping next to you.

**_'Dead!'_** The word reverberated through Pippin's consciousness, _'Of course Merry was dead! They both were!' _That was logical. Pippin remembered how ill he had been, desperately sick and his stomach had hurt so much. And he **_knew_** Merry was dead! He'd seen him die – twice! First in the caves of Moria during the terrible fight and then again when he had sensed his cousin's departure from the world. He had felt him stop breathing and his heart had stopped beating – Pippin knew this for certain.

Well as they were both dead it made no sense not to wake Merry. "Merry! Merry!" Pippin shouted in his snoring cousin's ear, "Wake up! We're Dead! Wake up and see!"

Merry groaned and tried to roll over. He had been in the same position for a long time and could scarcely feel any of his limbs. In fact, he was pretty certain he did not have any limbs to speak of. His arm was still bound to his side and when he tried to move it, and nothing happened, he realised for certain that he had no arm. "Pip? Where did my arms and legs go?"

Pippin was unprepared for this question. "I don't know Merry, I think they're attached to you. Maybe they haven't arrived yet. Anyway, I'm sure you have to feel all right soon because we're dead now."

"Oh well that's all right then." Merry grunted and tried to lift his head up but it flopped back onto the pillows, "only I don't seem able to move Pip. Shouldn't I be able to move when I'm dead?"

"Well maybe we're not in Overheaven," Pippin reasoned, "Perhaps we have to atone for all our wrong-doings first."

"That should take quite a while," Merry murmured, still not really awake, "I'd best just have a nap, build my strength up ready, you know." And his lead weighted lids insisted on closing once more.

"Oh!" Pippin felt a little deflated that Merry was not as excited as he was about being dead, especially as they seemed to have made it to wherever they were together. "Please Merry, you can have a 40 winks later. You'd best wake up now and see what we have to do."

"What is all this din in here?" Gaeaf had actually been in and out of the room all morning, tending to the sleeping hobbits. In spite of Merry's numbness, Gaeaf had repositioned him several times while he slept and Pippin had been carefully bathed from top to toe and clad in a long white nightshirt without even waking. "If you are going to shout and leap around Master Peregrin Took I shall no longer consider you my patient and you will be banished from the healing chamber."

"Healing chamber?" Pippin's face furrowed, "do you have to get healed in the Overheaven?"

"I daresay," Gaeaf agreed, not really understanding what the excitable perian was talking about, "So please sit up and eat your breakfast so that you may heal as fast as possible and give me some peace." The elf deposited a tray onto the big bed, laden with fresh fruits, a large mug of milk, a bowl of porridge with brown sugar and slivers of crustless bread, spread with butter and honey.

"Breakfast in bed!" Pippin's eyes opened wide at the delicious spread, "I think I'm going to like the Overheaven!"

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Mis…ter F…ro…do! Fro! Fr-frr…" Sam gave up the unequal battle for a moment and leant against the door jamb, panting and trying to find where all his breath had gone. "I… It's… you h-have to…to come… now!"

"Whatever is up Sam?" Frodo's wide eyes grew rounder and bigger than usual with surprise at Sam's obvious agitation. "What's happened?"

"It…it's Mistrer, I mean Mister Boromir… and Mister Legolas and all… and Strider and they comed… I mean they came back… and everything… they got Mister Gimli… only he's got a broken elf and… and…"

"A broken what?"

"Leg, I mean he's got a broke leg… but he says… says…"

"Sam! Slow down!" Frodo leapt from his bed where he had been waiting on a promise of breakfast from his servant, but it seemed he had something rather better than food to offer. "Tell me!" Frodo caught hold of Sam's forearms and stared hard into his face, willing him to catch his breath. "Pippin?"

Sam had no words left, but nodded so hard his head might have fallen off it weren't so stubborn.

"Let's go!" Frodo quickly pulled on britches and shirt and was still buttoning as he ran after Sam, heading to where he knew his precious little cousin would be.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Another pillow?"

"No thank you."

"A drink? Would you like some fruit cordial?"

"No, truly, I am not thirsty."

"How about some ale? I am certain I could smuggle some in without the healers seeing."

"Legolas, you really don't have to do anything." Gimli grunted as he tried to change position, but his stretched and elevated leg made it tricky. "Your Elven kin have tended to my every need and I will be up and about in no time, or so they tell me."

"I could read to you." Legolas ran his finger along the row of books. They were all written in Sindarin and almost certainly illegible to the dwarf. "There are some worthy manuscripts here."

"I do not need bedtime stories either," Gimli snorted, "although I suspect the hours may hang heavily upon my recovery. Your company would be welcome to help while away the long hours that I will be confined to bed."

"Then you shall have it," Legolas exclaimed with a smile, "my company is an easy gift to give. Would you have me sing to you, tell you stories of my people, or do you prefer poetry? I have many a long ballad and lay to heart."

"I would sooner you carry me news," Gimli said a little too hastily, "although the songs and stories are enticing. But what of the hobbits? Are they fit and whole? And Strider and Boromir? Are they to visit?"

"Of course friend Gimli," Boromir had been standing by the door listening to the exchange between the two, "I am glad to see you are faring better."

"Takes more than a broken leg to bring a dwarf down to size." Aragorn laughed as he followed Boromir into the room, "and Pippin and Merry are fine too, as are all the hobbits. Do not trouble yourself over their health but fasten rather on your own recovery."

"Really?" Gimli fixed the Ranger with a beady eye. "Young Pippin looked to be in a dire state when last I saw him, and what of poor young Meriadoc? Pippin thought him to be dead – and he seemed so sure."

"We believe he may have been for a brief while." Aragorn agreed. He placed his hand gently on Legolas's shoulder, "and had it not been for this noble elf, he may have remained so."

"I did little enough," Legolas looked abashed, "it was through my hasty actions that Merry was almost lost."

"I trusted and hoped that you would save the young hobbit with your fleetness and speed." Gimli paused and his voice darkened with the memory. "But Pippin knew he had died, it was more than just a feeling; of that I am certain. Yet you tell me he lives!"

"Indeed he does," Aragorn's hand remained on Legolas' shoulder, tacitly preventing any objection from his friend. "Legolas offered up to the Valar his immortality in exchange for Meriadoc's life. It was a courageous and selfless act and one of which you should be proud."

"But…" Boromir had not heard this tale until now, "what does that mean? Are you now doomed to the fate of Men?"

"No indeed," Legolas was clearly uncomfortable at being made so much of. "They gave the little one back his mortal being without accepting my sacrifice. He was void of life for a short while. That Pippin felt his death is further evidence of the Grace in which these dear perian abide."

"Which should give us all renewed hope for the Quest," Aragorn nodded gravely. "After we lost Gandalf, my grief aside, I was sorely worried that all was lost. But the survival of the halflings against such terrible travails is surely a sign that they may yet prevail."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Peregrin Took! You bad hobbit! Where have you been all this time?" Frodo's scolding words were delivered with a tender embrace, belying the severity of the rebuke.

"You had us all worrit to death and no mistake!" Sam added his own admonishment as his Master hugged his young cousin and managed to upset Pippin's cup of milk in the process.

"Frodo?" Pippin gasped with dismay, "but you're not meant to be here! Oh no, this is terrible. I mean, it's wonderful to see you, but what's to become of the Shire and the Quest and everything if you're here?"

"What are you talking about, you silly hobbit?" Frodo felt Pippin's brow, checking for fever, "you must still be poorly my dearest?"

"No," Gaeaf had entered the chamber so quietly the three hobbits jumped, "he's almost well enough to leave. In fact, since he's so wide awake, he should get up and about as soon as he's finished throwing his breakfast over the bed, if only to give his companion a little peace." Gaeaf mopped up the spilled milk and lifted the still sleeping Merry slightly apart from his boisterous cousins. "Your clothes, Peregrin, are being washed and mended and will be here soon, then you can go."

"Oh no," Pippin exclaimed in alarm, "I have to wait for Merry, I can't go exploring the Overheaven without him!"

"Overheaven?" Sam scratched his head, "I know these trees are pretty tall, but I don't think we're that high up, leastways, I certainly hope not."

"Of course you must wait for Merry," Frodo had decided that his young cousin was still quite muddled following his ordeal, "we'll all wait for Merry to wake up. He's been so upset and anxious waiting for you Pippin."

"Really?" Pippin poked Merry gently in the side to see if he was about to stir. "He wasn't surprised to see me at all. I thought he was expecting me. Oh well," Pippin heaved a mixed sigh of relief and sorrow, "I'm sorry you're here Fro, and you Sam, but at least we're all together. Where do you suppose Gandalf has got to? Perhaps we'll see him soon do you think?"

"But Pip my dear heart," Frodo took Pippin's hand gently in his, "have you forgotten? The Bridge of Khazad-Dûm? Gandalf fell – do you not remember?"

"Yes, of course," Pippin nodded, "the Balrog, the fight and everything. I just thought that perhaps he would come to see us now we're here. But I suppose he is too important or maybe they have a particularly splendid place for wizards, you know, what with them being wizards."

"Um… What… what's all the ruckus?" Merry stirred and opened one eye just a slit. The sleeping draught that Gaeaf had fed him was only just wearing off. "Trying to get some shuteye around here you know."

"Merry, you sleepyhead," Frodo smiled as he remembered how difficult it had been to get Merry to rest before, "I thought you would have been bouncing off the ceiling now that Pippin is safe and sound."

"Pip?" Merry opened both eyes now, "Pippin! You're here! I thought you were… that is I remembered you were here, but that was only dreaming!

"No Merry," Pippin put on his best aggrieved and exasperated tone, "we're in Overheaven, remember? We were just waiting for you to wake up and for Gandalf to come."

"Pippin dear heart," Frodo began explaining carefully again, "Gandalf isn't coming back. I'm sorry, and we're all dreadfully sad about that, but you have to understand."

"But… but," Pippin felt that awful feeling in the pit of his stomach as he began to realise all was not well. His bottom lip trembled and his eyes filled up, until a fat tear escaped down his cheek, "I thought he would come to see us, now we're all dead. I thought he'd want to make sure we were all right, maybe show us around, I thought… oh I don't know! Why doesn't he want to come here?"

"We're not dead Master Pip!" Sam looked perplexed. "That is, I don't exactly remember dying myself and I don't think that's the sort of thing you'd forget easily."

"Yes, yes," Pippin's tears were running down his cheeks now and he hiccupped a small sob as he spoke. "I know Merry and I died, I remember Merry anyway and… and I heard Gimli and Boromir saying we would soon all be dead, leastways… hic… I think that was it… hic… so when I saw Merry… well then I knew for sure…"

"Oh Pippin," Frodo gulped as he realised the enormity of the horrors his young cousins had both faced, "you didn't die, neither did Merry. Sam and I are fine and so are you, and Merry is getting better."

"I don't understand." Pippin sniffed back his tears and lifted his cousin's hand up to his face and pressed the palm into his cheek. "Are you real Fro? Or am I dreaming you?"

"I'm real Pip, truly, so are Merry and Sam." Frodo kissed the top of Pippin's curls, "and so are you, you silly Billy."

"…and Gandalf?" Pippin asked hopefully.

Frodo shook his head sadly, "I'm so sorry Pip, but Gandalf really did sacrifice himself so that we could escape."

"So are we dead or not?" Merry murmured, still unable to raise himself up and not really following what was going on. "Do I have to do anything?"

"Yes," Pippin dragged his sleeve across his soggy eyes and nose, the realisation that he and Merry were not dead, finally sinking in, "you have to get better, fast as you can please Merry."

"All right Pip," Merry agreed sleepily, smiling happily even as his eyes closed again. "I'll do my very best, just for you."

0-0-0-0-0-0

It was a week later that Merry, with Aragorn guarding his progress in front and Boromir guiding him from behind, climbed slowly down the long winding staircase of the Mallorn tree.

He had made good progress and was expected to be fully recovered in another week or two so that the four hobbits would be able to continue on the Quest together.

But there was something that had to be done first and Merry had not wanted to be left out. He sat next to Pippin on a little hillock and surreptitiously held his cousin's hand as Celeborn began to intone sweetly complex words in Sindarin.

Although only Legolas and Aragorn and, to some small extent, Frodo could understand the poetry that was chanted by the Elven Lord, all eight of the surviving members of the Fellowship that had set out from Rivendell felt the emptiness that Gandalf's loss had left. All of them had lacked the time to mourn for the wizard when he had fallen in Moria, beset as they had been with travails and battles of their own. But now that omission could at last be mended and some healing of their grief could, at least, begin.

When the evening was almost spent, Frodo stood and told the company his own tribute to Gandalf in the verses he had written and even Sam added his own lines about the wizard's fireworks.

And as the elves sang and the glow that filtered through the mallorn trees faded from gold to red, the Fellowship drew close and found renewed strength in their mutual grief and a deep comradeship that came from the battles shared and won since they had left the Mines of Moria by the Eastgate.

The End

**_Author's Note_**: Well that's it for now, back to writing Recaptured for me, I don't know where everyone else has gone but I'm sure you'll see them around. Thanks for all your reviews and I'm sorry this has taken so long to get to the end, but hope it was worth waiting for.

Now I'm going to leave the final Q&A to Pippin (ably assisted by **_Marigold_**) since Merry still has a headache and the others are far too busy!

Heddwch!  
_**Llinos**_

_**Q&A**_

**_Lindahoyland:_** What an exciting place to leave off!  
**_Pippin:_** Well, I am glad that you thought so!  
**_Lindahoyland_**: I liked the way Frodo comforted Merry.  
**_Pippin_**: Frodo can be quite solicitous. And he makes an excellent cottage pie! Oh, and he's brave and noble and all of that stuff too.

**_Storyfish_**: Yay! Orc attack! Um, I mean...Orcs bad! BAD! But being scared stiff for the lives of Boromir, Gimli, and Pippin is always fun (and seems to happen a lot in this tale). Am especially freaked out by the end of this chapter (YAUGH! DON'T MERCY-KILL PIP!).  
**_Pippin_**: Yes, you must have been very amused by this tale, with all of the horrible things that have happened to us. Really, the way that some of you people get your jollies! And "YAUGH" indeed! I admit that the end of this chapter freaked me out as well, or at least it would have done, had I been at all conscious.  
**_Storyfish_**: But am especially looking forward to the next (last) chapter, which will hopefully end on top of the cliff, with no more stragglers dangling off the edge by their fingertips, screaming (since I don't know if I can handle another cliff-hanger like this one!).  
**_Pippin_**: Thank you! I think… Oh, and Marigold is poking me to poke you about some Challenge starter or other that you are supposed to be working on. I do hope that my life isn't going to be in _**too**_ much jeopardy in it, though I suppose that is a vain hope. Sigh…

**_EVIL MANIAC:_** I'm glad Merry liked the chocolates! This time Pippin gets one too.  
**_Pippin_**: Only one? I think that I deserve a lifetime membership in the Chocolate of the Month Club! You really **_are_** evil!  
**_EVIL MANIAC_**: And that song was...interesting... I can imagine the healer would be rather amused. Or shocked. Or something to that effect. :)  
**_Pippin_**: Actually your average elf has been around so long that nothing shocks them. Although Merry and I have managed to curl Legolas' hair a time or two!  
**_EVIL MANIAC_**: And also poor Pippin... stuck up a burning tree with no eagles and too many drugs. Dear me... what a pickle. Do hobbits like pickles? In their sandwiches, that is.  
**_Pippin_**: We don't have pickles. We have pickled onions, pickled beetroot, pickled eggs, pickled cabbage, pickled peppers, pickled walnuts, pickled lemons, pickled cauliflower, pickled pears, pickled shallots, pickled cornichons, pickled mackerel…but no pickles. Those are called gherkins!  
**_EVIL MANIAC:_** this chapter was great! Just like the rest of the story is great! (Although of course the bits with people dying/getting stabbed/bleeding are better!)  
Anywho, namarie!  
**_Pippin:_** All of us are terribly happy to have been injured and made to suffer mightily for your enjoyment! Always glad to be of service! Namarie!

**_IceEmber:_** I know Pip will live but maybe the sheer amount of drugs he keeps getting fed explains why he is the way he is.  
**_Pippin:_** I am going to have to get Merry to explain that comment… I think that you might be having a go at me, but my head is a bit muddled just now.

**_Pip4:_** Nice chapter, although, to be honest, I like it when everyone is playing and writing it. I think it gives us more to read in each chapter because each person is going into detail with each individual character. But you did a very good job of writing all of them in this chapter, good work.  
**_Pippin:_** **_Llinos_** did an outstanding and amazing job! All of us characters are enormously pleased at how she has written us after our original tormentors…I mean authors…had to leave the role-play! It was a big job, on top of prodding reams and reams of material into an exciting and enjoyable story, and we thank her very much! On behalf of all of the characters that appeared in The East Gate, Three Cheers for **_Llinos_**! Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!


End file.
